The Brilliant Mind of Rogue
by Lizzieturbo
Summary: Sequel to KC's 'Beautiful Mind of Katherine Pryde'. Tinkerbell's been telling the story for too long. It's Rogue's turn now, and there is NO pixie dust here, people. Includes KIOTR and ROMY. Entry 12: Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a Coup. Not the pigeon kind, but the french-y one with the silent 'p'. A take-over. But don't worry, we have Pixie Dust.
1. This is stupid

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'LizzieTurbo'. For that, please refer to her profile, available at the link above. All questions regarding this... blog... will be answered there.

**Entry number one**

Hi.

This is so stupid. I can't believe how stupid this is. How the hell does Kitty do this? So, what, am I supposed to start typing out whatever nonsense comes into my head, and just, I don't know, _assume_ that a huge audience of readers is going to give two shits about it? You know, this is the problem with the YouTube generation, everyone thinks that they've got something important to say and that someone, somewhere, is just sitting around waiting to hear it. It's the Twitter-ization of America's youth, and it's what's going to turn the majority of the nation's population into raging alcoholics around the age of 30. Because everyone thinks they're someone special, and when they eventually figure out that they're _not_, it's all going to come crashing down.

Yeah, I get the irony of ranting about the stupidity of blogging on a _blog_, so don't be sitting there thinking you're the shit. Asshats. I'm not doing this for some ill-conceived psuedo-sense of fame. I'm not that brainless. I'm doing this for revenge.

As you all know by now, Kitty has been banned from her blog. Logan means business. And I know, you're all crying yourselves to sleep on your Twilight pillowcases because you can no longer giggle at her clever little pop culture references and titter away at her hilarious hijinks and quirky misunderstandings. Ooh, Kitty is just _soooooo_ cute. She can't flirt. She says stupid things. She's goes crazy in leather and pretends to be dating my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, that's right, I didn't forget about _that_ little gem. I'm sure y'all didn't forget about it either. Seems like everyone's been hanging onto every torrid little detail of **my** love life as well.

By the way, if you're under the impression that at any second I might start dispensing all the current particulars on that front, you can just forget it, because Remy and I aren't together anymore. That's right, we broke up. So all you sickos are just going to have to go get your jollies somewhere else. Sorry, no more getting off on the salacious details of my sex life. Seriously guys, not f***ing cool.

Wait, what's with the stupid stars?

F***

F***

F*** f*** f***

Aw, damnit, this thing's got some sort of autocorrect censorship mechanism. That's f***ing whack, man.

Anyway, the point is, the gravy train has been derailed. No more Kitty. The days of her detailing all her stupid little adventures on this public forum are over. Forgive me if I'm not exactly crying with y'all.

To say that I'm less than pleased to have been an unwitting character in my roommate's online soap opera would be an understatement. I'm f***ing livid.

Those f***ing stars are starting to really piss me off.

Kitty says she doesn't get why I'm still so mad, six months later. She has no friggin' idea. Because apparently I should be just delighted that she's made my private life public, without my knowledge. I should be jumping out of my f***ing shoes to have been painted as a clueless, double-timing, terrorist-loving slut. The whole Joseph thing? Totally blown out of proportion. But thanks Kitty, for that.

"You're being completely effing ridiculous, Rogue!', she says to me. I know, seriously. The balls on her, right? And by the way, that wasn't just me editing, she literally said 'effing'. She does it all the time. I"m fairly certain she pictures herself as a Disney character.

So, of course, there's no way I'm going to let her get away with that shit. "Are you f***ing kidding me, Kit?" I screamed back at her. "You're telling me, if the tables were turned, you'd have no problem with me broadcasting all your shit without your permission?"

"What 'shit' could you broadcast, Rogue? Did you even read the blog? It's _all_ about me! Clearly, I'm not embarrassed about who I am and how I live my life, and you shouldn't be either. So yeah, if you wanted to talk about me – in person, on the internet, standing on the roof of Walmart with one of those hostage negotiator bullhorns – I'd say go for it. Knock yourself out."

She thinks I was just talking hypothetical. Or maybe she just doesn't think I actually have the cajones to really pull it off. But I do. I've got a friggin' pair.

So now it's my turn. Because, apparently, Kitty has nothing to hide. She told you idiots _'everything'_ on her blog already, right? Well then, I guess she'd have _no_ problem, for instance, with me letting y'all know that she collects comic books. Archie comics. Yeah, I know. She has like, a hundred of them, and she keeps them stuffed under the foot of her mattress, like she's hiding porn. Which is probably a pretty accurate comparison considering all of the issues she has just so happen to feature Jughead, and I'm fairly certain she has a crush on him. _Jughead._ Let me tell you, the pages are just a little too worn for my liking. I don't want to think about what that girl might be doing with those comics during her... private time.

Another thing about Kitty: she sweats. A lot. As in, a LOT, a lot. If I was a meaner person, I'd probably start calling her 'Pit-Stains', because she's practically sporting them 24/7. I'll give her credits, she gotten really good at hiding her little problem, but there are some things that roommates just know. She's even tried that 'clinical strength' anti-perspirant they advertise on TV, but all that did was turn the armpits of her shirts an awkward color even faster. That girl can ruin a shirt in two months tops, which is why she shops so much. But, I'm sure she'd have no problem with me telling y'all about that. Because _she's not embarrassed about who she is_.

Also, a couple years ago, she had a crush on my brother Kurt. He's a mutant, too. And he's blue, and furry, and has a tail. I'm not f***ing with you. An actual tail. He wears a hologram image inducer most of the time, but let me tell you, even with that thing making him look all peach-colored and smooth, he's still not exactly a looker. I love the guy, but come on. His hair alone is atrocious, and when he uses his teleportation powers, it smells like ass. And once upon a time, our precious little Kitty wanted to hit that.

We are, of course, talking about the girl who also seriously thought for a time that she was going to end up marrying Lance one day. _Lance_. With the vest thing, and the _mullet_. By the way, here's another little tidbit she didn't share on her blog: She totally let him pop her cherry. Yup, Lance 'D-bag' Alvers was Kitty's first. And as if _that_ little bit of info wasn't bad enough on it's own, she reluctantly revealed to me that at 'the moment of completion', he called out: "Avalanche!". And he wasn't just talking about his name.

Think about it for a second.

I know, ew. Disgusting _and_ corny.

And that was her first time, the big momentous occasion that she's going to remember for the rest of her life. Having sex with Lance. _Lance Alvers_. I know I keep repeating myself, but it bares repeating. I've got a lot of shit on the girl, but that's kind of my _piece de resistance_. That's French for 'biggest piece of shit I've got on Kitty'. Remy taught me junk back in the day.

See, these are the kind of gems you're gonna get now that I'm behind the wheel. The stuff Kitty _doesn't_ want you to know. Because, trust me, there **is** stuff she doesn't want you to know. And she's not always as cute and fluffy as she comes off when she's the one telling the story. Remember that whole _Julia Roberts_ thing? Yeah, she was just f***ing nuts. Not fun and quirky and confused like she made herself seem, just one hundred percent bat-crap crazy. From now on, I'm gonna be telling it like it is. Like, right now, Kitty's in the middle of planning Jean's baby shower, and the girl is borderline certifiable. I don't care if her mom had her tested, that test was _wrong_.

But I'll save that story for next time. I'm not going to spend two hours a day on the computer just so I can inform a bunch of anonymous dillweeds about the crazy crap my roommate does. I have an actual life, after all.

So, welcome to The Brilliant Mind of Rogue. Last name not included. Because even if that _was_ the type of info I gave out freely, I certainly wouldn't do it here, on the internet, and especially not in connection with a blog in which I describe all the details of my and my housemate's lives. Magneto wasn't kidding, that blog was a f***ing security nightmare. Seriously, Kitty can be so dumb. I mean, she's a genius really, but sometimes she's just a world-class freakin' idiot.


	2. and the madness begins

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as Lizzieturbo.

**Entry number two**

The first thing you need to know, is that Jean is huge.

And I'm not just talking regular ol' nine-months-pregnant huge. It's beyond that now. You know that one famous scene in Alien? Yeah, well, right now, Jean's looking like the millisecond before the little creature bursts out of the guy's stomach and starts snarling. Like someone paused the movie or something and now she's just stuck that way. She looks deformed.

Now, I know Jean and I aren't exactly 'besties', as Kitty would say, but trust me, that fact has absolutely nothing to do with this. Ask anyone. The girl is ginormous. It's painful to watch. And, if anything, it makes me like her more. At the very least, it makes me feel sorry for her. We **all** feel sorry for her. She's due in like three weeks, and all she's been able to do for the past month is waddle her way in from her little boathouse apartment, park her giant ass on the Mansion's family room couch and just _sit_. Apparently the cheap and functional Swedish thing Scott bought from IKEA for their place isn't padded enough for her these days. That's my guess, because Jean hasn't really explained it. She hasn't explained a lot lately. She's sort of stuck in this fog. Like a _'I can't deal with the rest of the world, I can only focus on the fact that I'm painfully huge and this hell is never going to end'_ kind of fog.

She's like a walking advertisement for birth control. If Logan wanted to ban sex in the house, he should have just made sure Jean got pregnant a long f***ing time ago.

The second thing you need to know, is that Kitty is nuts.

Last weekend Jean and Scott drove out to Anondale-on-Hudson so her family could throw them a last minute baby shower. I mean, seriously, I don't think her aunt could have waited any longer. The girl is about to burst, probably literally. I think the appropriate time to start buying them baby swings and diaper genies and shit would have been like two months ago. Although, now that I think about it, there's a good chance that the golden couple might have lied about the due date to cover up the evidence of their premarital nasty-making. In which case, I totally approve.

Anyway, as soon as they got back with their carload of ultra-pink baby crap, Kitty got it in her head that we needed to throw her a shower too. I mean, literally, a whole group of us were standing outside the front door watching as Scott struggled with all the gifts that had been Tetris-ed into his tiny little convertible (because we all knew he could have used some help. And was purposely not asking. Because he wanted us to step up without having to be specifically requested to do so. That guy is a such a tool sometimes), and out of nowhere Kitty blurts out,

"Ooh! I've always wanted to plan a baby shower!"

I mean, seriously? Who says that? Who dreams of throwing a random baby shower? That's just weird, Kitty.

I told her as much. She just scoffed and pointed at the diaper cake that Scott was hefting inside the house at this point. "That diaper cake is stupid. I've never even made one before and I already know how I could do it better." She paused for a moment. "Cupcakes. We'll have cupcakes. They're totally in right now, plus, I'm one of few people who look really sexy holding a cupcake. So, that's a bonus." She crossed her arms with an air of formality. "That's it, I'm totally doing this. Remember their wedding? I planned the crap out of that thing. A baby shower is going to be like child's play."

By the way, a 'diaper cake', in case you didn't know, isn't even a real cake. It's just a bunch of stupid diapers all piled together in the general shape of a cake. So, after you take it home, you've just got a shitload of diapers laying around out of the package. I mean, you can't even eat it, there's like no point to the damn thing. I don't understand this shit.

So, that's the reason why for the past week our room has been filled with pink ribbon, pink tulle, pink candies, and a myriad of other pink colored crap. Kitty's gone off the deep end. She's bound and determined to throw the world's greatest baby shower with only a week's notice. Jean agreed to the whole thing because, well, it's really not all that hard to get Jean to agree to anything these days. Because of the fog. You could ask her to lend you her left kidney for the next seven years and she'd probably just smile weakly and nod, wishing you would leave her alone and let her get back to focusing on her new gravitational pull.

The shower is tomorrow, so today, according to Kitty, we are officially in "_Def Con Ten_" mode. I don't know what that's supposed to mean exactly. And I'm pretty sure she's got the saying backwards. It should be zero, right, like a countdown? She swears she knows better than me, because she watches Big Bang Theory. Which just proves I'm right, because if you use a television show as evidence of your superior knowledge, it automatically makes you an idiot. But basically, I think what it means in Kitty-Talk is that the metaphorical shit is about to hit the metaphorical fan, baby shower wise.

A bunch of us were sitting around the kitchen today having our respective lunches when the girl in question came swooping in, looking flushed with her arms full of bags and a small piece of hot pink crepe paper stuck in the back of her hair.

"Well, it nearly killed me, but they're done," she announced to everyone, as if we had all been waiting around for her to arrive and make such a proclamation. Spoiler alert: we weren't.

"Uh...," Bobby has such a way with words, "I think I speak for everyone here when I say: What you talkin' 'bout, Kitty?" Seriously, he thinks he's f***ing Carrot Top. Or someone funny. Actually, Carrot Top is probably an appropriate comparison.

"The decorations," Kitty clarified, rolling her eyes as she dropped her bags unceremoniously on the floor and made her way over to the kitchen sink to get herself a glass of water.

That had me glancing at my watch. "That's what you've been doing this whole time? You left at like nine this morning."

"Yeah, well, there was a crapload of work to do. And it wouldn't have taken so long if, oh I don't know, I'd actually had some _help_." At this, she turned and glared at Remy, who was leaning against the counter next to her munching on some sort of high-protein salad. "Have you seriously been _here_ all morning?"

Remy shrugged. "I never said I'd be there. That's why I gave you the key."

"Yeah, well, I thought that was for, like, 'just in case'. I assumed that if I was going to _your_ apartment to set things up, that _you'd_ actually be there."

"That's your fault then," he countered. "You know what they say about when you assume things."

Kitty looked at him blankly. "Crap, no. I forgot again. What do they say?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know, something about you bein' an ass or some shit like that..."

This is where I pipped in. "I don't think that's right. But boy, aren't y'all just two peas in a pod..."

That earned me glares from both of them. Totally worth it.

"Whatever." He turned back to Kitty. "Look, I'm letting you use my place, even though you live in a f***ing mansion which has at least half a dozen rooms that would be big enough for all of you ladies to sit around talking about breastfeeding and letdown and nipple chaffing and whatever the hell else it is you do at a baby shower-"

At this point he was cut off by Bobby's obnoxious giggling, because he'd used the words 'breast' and 'nipple' in the same sentence.

I scrunched my nose. "How the hell do you know about letdown?"

He looked at me, his eyes twinkling a little. "I've known some moms."

In case you were wondering, he meant 'known' in the biblical sense.

"Hells yeah!" Alex called out with his mouth half-full of sandwich from the other side of the room. "Single moms are the best, brah. Total beasts in the bed. Real freaky-deaky."

Bobby just giggled again. "Milfs."

Remy rolled his eyes. I mean sure, he's a total man-whore, but at least he's not as immature about it as those two d-bags. "The point is," he began, "I'm offering up my apartment, for free, and I even let you put your shit up all around the place a day early. If you wanted manual labor to go with it, that'll cost ya, and I don't mean cash, _minette_.

I should probably explain this, the whole apartment thing.

Remy's completely right; there's no logical reason why we couldn't have the baby shower here at the mansion. But logic isn't really one of Kitty's strong suits. According to her, having the shower at the same location where every single one of the guests live would be, in her words, 'total lame-sauce'. Especially since Jean and Scott already had to get married here. But the problem with trying to find a suitable location outside of the mansion is that right now Jean has sort of specific, um, 'seating requirements'. Remember when I mentioned that Jean just sits around on the couch all day? Yeah, **so** was not kidding about that. It's all she does, because it's all she _can_ do. Apparently that two-ton kid she's carrying is really putting a strain on her tiny little hips. The girl can barely stand or walk, and when she sits, it has to be on something soft and couch-like. Or, more specifically, a couch. That's it. Hard chairs of any kind are completely out of the question, which vetoes any restaurant or meeting hall we might have reserved for such an occasion. That's why we're doing it at Remy's place. It's the only logical choice, according to Kitty.

I should probably also explain why Remy even has an apartment in the first place. But to do that, I'm going to have to explain our breakup. Now, before all you dipshits get too excited, I'll warn you: the story ain't all that titillating. And after I'm done with it, that's all you're going to get on Remy and me, okay? The point of this blog is **not** so all you sickos can continue to get your jollies by salivating over the private details of my love life. The point of this blog is... well, I'm not really sure, exactly. To stick it to Kitty, I guess. Even though she doesn't know I'm writing this. But if she did, she'd be pissed. And I guess that's the point.

Thing is, our whole breakup wasn't even all that dramatic. All it boils down to really is the fact that Remy is a friggin' idiot.

About a month ago, his 'dad' called him up, out of the blue. Because he wanted to "reconnect" and have Remy be "a part of the family again". Which, in case you were unaware, is code for 'I miss having someone small and stupid to jerk around'. That's right, I'm fluent in Manipulative Asshole. Remy, apparently, is not. Either that, or he's choosing to be ignorant. So, long story short, Jean-Luc wants to make nice and asked Remy to rejoin the Guild. And because he's a glutton for punishment, Remy says 'Sure, Daddy, anything you want!'. Not literally, I'm sure.

But, as his girlfriend, I had a problem with that. Not with the thieving, per se, because it's not like he ever stopped _that_, and Jean-Luc didn't ask him to come to New Orleans or anything. All he's asking-right now-is for Remy to start taking Guild jobs up North. My problem was, and is, with him letting himself get put under that jerk-off's thumb. Again. He says I '_just don't understand_', which is total bullshit, because of all people, **I** understand. Remember Mystique? Well, maybe you don't, Kitty didn't exactly lay out all that history on her blog, but trust me, I remember Mystique _very_ well. And I remember Jean-Luc. Which is why I couldn't just stand idly by and let someone I love go down that path again. Because it's going to end badly. It always does when you let assholes back into your life.

Remy said that if I really did love him, I'd respect his right to make his own life decisions. And I do. I respect that. It's _his_ life, afterall. But I can't be a part of that. I just can't. I can't watch someone I care about more than anything just walk straight into a shitty situation and pretend to be okay with it. So I told him, if that's the decision he's choosing to make then maybe now's not the right time for us to be together.

And he agreed. And that was it.

We didn't fight about it. There was no yelling, no screaming or throwing junk against the walls. We just... aren't together anymore. It was a mutual decision. And besides, it was probably all for the best anyways. It was good timing.

Kitty and I are starting at Columbia next week, and I had already been hesitant about starting out that new adventure while tied down. I want to really _experience_ college, you know? I mean, it's not like I got to have a normal childhood experience (thank you, imaginary skin disease) or a normal highschool experience (thank you, actual skin mutation). I want to do the college thing right. I want to study outside against a backdrop of fall foliage, go on and on with my classmates about 'the big game', and do something – anything – in a 'Quad'. Kitty's been making us watch a lot of college-themed movies lately, in case you couldn't tell. For research purposes, she says. But the point is, I want to be able to experience all those things without having to worry about hurrying home to some boyfriend. So, you know, it's okay. We're not together. I still care about Remy, and I still think he's being a complete idiot, but it's his life. And I have mine.

But back to the apartment thing. Once Remy decided to go back to the Guild, the Professor brought him into his office and had a little chat with him. Something about not being able to serve two Masters, or at least that what Remy told me afterward. Xavier didn't kick him off the team exactly, but just told him that he might want to take some time to decide where his loyalties really lie, or what he wants to do with his life, something like that. So that's what he's doing. Sometimes he joins in on Danger Room sessions, but it's not mandatory that he's there, and he's not assigned for missions anymore. He still has his room here at the mansion that he uses ("Because we're a family, and you don't eject family members". Got it, Prof), but he spends a lot of his time at the apartment he bought on the outskirts of Bayville back when he was working for Magneto.

Which is where we're having the baby shower. And now y'all are up to date. So, going back to this afternoon...

Kitty scrunched up her nose at Remy's insinuation. "You totally wish. That's just gross. Besides, I don't think you're ready for this jelly."

Remy gave me a sideways ironic glance, because we both know there's not an ounce of 'jelly' on that tiny girl.

"Yes please!" Alex shouted out. I think he has Douche-bag Tourette's.

I could literally see Kitty fighting back the urge to bitch-slap him before returning to the conversation at hand. "And speaking of gross: The couch, Remy? Seriously? Who the hell honestly owns a lip couch... I mean, who do you think you are, Mick Jagger?"

"What's a lip couch?" Bobby asked.

"It's exactly what is sounds like, it's a couch shaped like lips," Remy answered, then turned back to Kitty, "... and it's a conversation piece."

"Yeah," Alex pipped in, "if that conversation is titled '_How Fast Can You Drop Your Panties_'. Holla!"

Remy just groaned and took that as his cue to leave. Seriously, the guy doesn't technically live here anymore, so he's under no obligation to sit tolerantly and humor Scott Summer's idiot brother. Unlike the rest of us.

As he made his way out of the kitchen, mumbling something about diluted genetic lines under his breath, I turned to Kitty. "Can we back up here for a second? You've been gone for like three hours. How long does it take to hang a few streamers and spread some balloons around?"

Kitty looked at me like I'd grown a third nostril. "Streamers, Rogue? Streamers?" She shook her head at me like you would at a child that still believes in Santa Claus a good two years longer than they should. "Streamers are for amateurs. Streamers are hokey. The fact that you could possibly think that I would stoop so low is, quite frankly, a little insulting. I'm insulted, Rogue."

"Isn't that a piece of streamer stuck in your hair?" I pointed at where it was sticking out in the back there.

I'll give her credit, the girl recovered quickly. She plucked the piece of paper out without looking and tossed it on the counter behind her without missing a beat. "Well, of course I used _some_ streamers. It's a party, damn it. What I meant was that I wouldn't stoop so low as to use **just** streamers. 'Just streamers' is the kind of crap you'd find at a _family_ baby shower. I'm better than that, and my shower is better than that."

"Hey, I'm family, you know." Alex huffed from the peanut gallery.

"Yeah, good for you," Kitty rolled her eyes. "But what I'm running here isn't some two-bit pony show." Also fairly certain she messed that one up, too. "There are streamers, yes, but also candles on like _every_ surface. And coordinated tablecloths, fabric of course. And framed pictures of Scott and Jean as kids. And twinkle lights, hanging down across the whole ceiling. That's what took so effing long, the damn twinkle lights. I thought Remy would do those, since he did such a great job with them at the wedding."

See, this is where I knew that Kitty had lost it, because Remy's twinkle lights sucked.

"Kitty, I think-"

"So," she totally cut me off, which is what she does when she knows I'm going to say something she doesn't want to hear, "I still have a lot of work left to do today – thank you very much, Remy LeBeau, for not being at your own effing apartment – so I'm going to just go up to our room and, you know, get to it."

If I was someone else, Kitty maybe, I probably would have stopped her, made her slow down for a second and admit that she's gone f***ing crazy, and then bug her until she confessed what all this insanity is really about. But I'm not Kitty, which is why I let her, the real Kitty, just walk out of the kitchen. Because it's seriously not my job to make her admit to her own neurosis. I don't think the world has to come to that yet. Because if we ever get to the point where that responsibility falls on _me_, I think we're all in big trouble.

I spent the next couple hours running errands around town, buying school supplies and stuff like that. Honestly, it wasn't all that exciting, but classes do start in a week and that shit has to be done. When I made my way up to our room to drop my purchases off, I was seriously surprised, not only to find Kitty still in there working, but the mess that had become of the place.

There she was, sitting in the middle of the floor clutching a pair of scissors, surrounded on all sides by a sea of ribbon, and glitter, and little scraps of pink tulle. It looked like a ballet school vomited all over the room.

"Kitty!" I exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing?"

Her eyes snapped up at me with an unexpectedly feral look. Like, I don't know, a desperate wounded chipmunk or something. "What am I doing? I'll tell you what I'm doing. It's the same thing I've been doing for the past hour and a half... making effing party favors! And you'd think it would be simple, right? Put the candies in the baby bottle, wrap the tulle around the lid, tie the bow around the tulle, and you're done. Ha!"

I opened my mouth to comment, but the lunatic cut me off before I got the chance. "- And I know what you're going to say. '_It's totally not worth the work, Kitty. Everyone's just going to rip the stupid things open to get the candy, and no one's going to pay attention to all the time and effort you put into them_'."

It was a little creepy, because that's exactly what I was going to say. But I could have lived without the horrible attempt at my accent. I don't talk like Forrest Gump, thank you very much.

Then, she sighed, dropping the scissors to the floor. "I know you think all this is stupid, Rogue, but it's important to me, okay? I just want to do a good job. Because I'm good at this stuff, stupid or not. I kicked that wedding's ass, and now I'm going to kick this baby shower's ass. I'm a party planning ass kicker, and nothing can ruin that. I might end up sucking at college, and my mom is getting married, for a second time, to some foreign-gum-buying tool before I can even get a guy to go ring shopping, but none of that matters right now. All that matters is that this shower is going to rock Jean's stretched-out socks off, so if you want to be a real friend keep your criticism to yourself and actually offer to help."

I stared at her for a minute, face all flustered and make-up smearing and fingertips bleeding, and decided that it'd probably be in my best interest to do as she asked.

I dropped my shopping bags on my desk. "Okay, Kitty. What can I do to help you with your stupid-ass baby shower?"

She smiled up at me tiredly. "Aw, Rogue, you're so sweet. I'd really appreciate it if you would pick up the balloons for me tomorrow morning, thank you so much for asking."

I crossed my arms, shaking my head at her. "Nope, that's too big. I was talking like, I don't know, helping you clean up all this shit or something. Besides, I thought you said balloons were 'hokey'."

"No, that was streamers. I never bad-mouthed balloons. We need balloons. **I** need balloons, and I need you to pick them up. I have to bake the cupcakes so they're fresh, that's why I did the decorations today."

"Why didn't you pick up the balloons today?"

"Helium, Rogue. Seriously, didn't you learn anything in highschool?"

I leaned back to sit on the edge of the desk. "Whatever, I'm not trekking across town tomorrow. Plus, trying to shove balloons in the Van is a bitch."

She gave me a long, intense look. "You will pick up the balloons tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes. "You can't Jedi mind-trick me, Kitty."

She continued her crazy-ass look. "You will do it because you love your roommate."

"I'm also pretty sure you don't use qualifiers with the mind-trick."

"These are not the droids you're looking for."

I swear, sometimes I think that girl was dropped as a baby. I've met her mom, y'all, it's completely probable.

I sighed, realizing at this point that you can't argue with crazy. "Fine, I'll pick up your f***ing balloons. But you've got to have all this shit picked up before we go to sleep tonight, or I'm going to have nightmares about ballerinas and Peeps and little pink babies, or some shit."

She scoffed, smiling slightly. "Of course I'll have it all picked up. I've got this thing in the bag, Rogue. You totally don't have enough faith in me..."

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not the problem. But whatever, I'm not going to argue with her when she's like this. Because, again, you can't argue with crazy.

I turned to walk out, but stopped when a thought occurred to me.

"Kitty," I started carefully, because she still had that deranged chipmunk look going on, "why didn't you just ask Pete to help you with all this shit? That's sort of standard boyfriend fare."

She waved me off without ever looking up from the ribbon she was back to tying. "He's in the middle of some art project. I didn't want to interrupt and scare off his muse, or whatever..."

Sure, Kitty. Like that's ever stopped her before. I'm not an idiot, I know what's up. She just doesn't want Pete to see her in Psycho-Kitty mode. Which is stupid, because they've been dating for over a year. If he hasn't noticed the psychosis yet then there's just no hope for him. In which case, she should probably hold onto him like her life depends on it, because that guy's a keeper.


	3. Change of Plans

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'LizzieTurbo'. But this does: Review replies - thoughts? I mean, Rogue is writing the blog, and she doesn't give two turds about your reader questions. But LizzieTurbo is "ghostwriting", and she loves both the reviews and her readers, and doesn't want to ignore them. But it's not LT's blog, it's Rogue's blog... This multiple personality disorder thing is confusing, I don't know how Kinetically Charmed does it...

**Entry number three**

If we're going to go with the 'glass half full' view of life, the first half of the day of Jean's baby shower went swimmingly.

The main event wasn't until 4, so that left plenty of time in the morning to get everything wrapped up. True to her word, Kitty'd had every last scrap of tulle picked up from the floor in our room the night before by the time I came back for bed, but that certainly didn't mean all her psychotic work was done. As soon as our morning Danger Room session was finished (seriously, it's summer time. We need to get Logan laid again), she was back at it, assembling blank cards for people to write messages to the unborn kid and organizing the question cards for the baby-facts quiz game.

By the time I was ready to head out to the party store to pick up the balloons, the nutball was already taking the cupcakes out of the oven to cool so she could decorate them. And let me tell you, getting those damn balloons turned out to be an even bigger pain in the ass than I had anticipated. Turns out that Kitty ordered the things from a party store two towns over, because the one in Bayville didn't carry the specific metallic pink balloons that she just _had _to have. Raving lunatic. The whole fiasco took me literally over 2 hours, and that included an excruciating 24 minutes of trying to get the f***ing things into the X-van. Have you ever tried shoving a dozen and a half helium-inflated balloons into a van? It's a friggin' bitch. It's like trying to dress a cat in a baby jumpsuit; as soon as you get one bunch in and start working on another, the first section that you already jammed in the damn vehicle have made their way out again.

Don't ask me how I know about the cat thing. People do weird things in the South.

Long story short, with no small amount of effort I managed to cowboy the stupid things into the van and get them back to the Mansion. By the time I got back, Kitty had long since finished decorating the cupcakes, with big mounds of swirled frosting and glitter sprinkles and little slices of strawberries on top and everything. I'd sooner slit your throat than admit to this, but those cupcakes looked pretty damn amazing. She might be completely crazy, but Kitty does know her shit.

Not that I'd actually eat one of them. She might know how to make a cupcake _look_ good, but there's no way I'm trusting my digestive system with Katherine Pryde's baking skills, or lack thereof.

I spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding Kitty as she finished up getting together the rest of her boring as hell party plans. She probably explained everything she was doing to me at some point, but I honestly can't remember any of it. I love Kitty, I really do, even though I'm sure it doesn't seem like it a lot of the time. But the girl has some seriously messed up priorities.

Anyway, the point is, come 3:30, the balloons were taken care of, the sexy cupcakes were ready, and all other baby shower related ducks were in a row. It looked like Kitty was actually going to pull this thing off.

Which is precisely when all hell broke loose.

I was searching around the rec room for my boots, which I could have sworn I had taken off in there the night before and we were gonna leave in like ten minutes, when I heard the screeching from down the hall. Since apparently I'm now immune to any internal drama danger warning signal I may have at once point had, my interest was piqued and I followed the sound towards the front entryway. That's where I found Kitty and Remy standing off, four giant shopping bags sitting on the floor in front of them overflowing with streamers and twinkle lights.

"Are you f***ing kidding me?" Kitty shrieked. This is when I knew that some serious shit was going down, because she didn't even say 'effing'.

Remy seemed less impressed. "It's _my_ apartment, Minette, and it turns out that I need it –"

"– so you just made a unilateral decision to cancel the baby shower? You took down my decorations!"

He glared down at her as I came up beside them. "Yeah, from **my** apartment."

"Those took hours for me to put up!" Kitty gaped.

"Funny," Remy smirked, "it hardly took any time at all to pack it all up."

Smooth, Gambit. Not really the time to be cracking jokes. I'm pretty sure I saw smoke start to come out of Kitty's ears as she reared forwards and started smacking him across his chest two-handed like an enraged Honey Badger.

"Hold on," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back from her rabid attack, "could one of you please explain what in Sam Hill is going on here?"

Yeah, I said '_Sam Hill_'. Kitty likes it when I talk like an old-timey cartoon prospector. I figured it might serve as a good distraction.

"Oh, I'll tell you what's going on." Kitty began, crossing her arms hotly as she started working herself back into a frenzy. Clearly the prospector routine was less than affective. "'_What's going on'_ is that your asshat ex-boyfriend is kicking us out of our venue!"

I turned to glare at Remy. "Thirty minutes before the shower?"

"I'm well aware of the time," he tossed back as he continued to fix his shirt and jacket from when Kitty had mussed it up. "Something came up."

"'_Something came up'_?" Kitty repeated. "What the hell could have come up that was big enough to break a promise to a super cute and awesome friend and leave a group of your female teammates without location for a party that's supposed to start like, _now_?"

At that, Remy's stance relaxed and the asshole had the audacity to actually grin, like the f***ing cat that ate the canary. Which is not a pun. You'll see.

"Black Cat."

Clearly, this was not the response that Kitty was expecting. Or me, for that matter. She opened her mouth to respond before stopping short, her face screwing up in confusion. "Wait," she started, "you got a _cat_?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "Not _a_ cat. Black Cat."

Kitty paused. "... you got a _black_ cat?"

He sighed. "I got a _woman_. It's a codename, Shadowcat. Her name is Felicia. She's been out of the country for a couple years now, but now she's back."

She just stared at him for a long, strangled moment. Her mouth was hanging open a little, and I'm pretty sure I probably looked the same. Finally, Kitty pulled herself together enough to speak. "Are you seriously telling me you're canceling the baby shower because you got a _**booty call**_?" She reached out and punched him hard on the chest.

"Ow!" Remy yelped. He gave her a pointed look. "You know there's an actual human body inside this coat."

Kitty glared up at him. "There are no nerve endings in _assholes_."

"Well that's not true. If it was, a lot more women would be into– "

She cut him off by punching him again, a little harder this time.

"OW!" He turned to me. "You gonna jump in here, Chere?"

I just rolled my eyes, nodding my head in Kitty's direction. "I think she's doing a pretty good job of beating the shit out of you all by herself."

He gave me a snooty look before turning back to Kitty. "It's not just _a_ booty call, it's t_he_ booty call. It's Black Cat!"

Kitty looked like fireworks were going to start shooting out of her ass. "I don't care who the hell it is, you can boff her tomorrow! The baby shower is **now**!"

She went to punch him again, but this time Remy reached up and caught her fist before it could make contact. He might have a soft spot for her, but I think there's a limit to how many times he's gonna let himself get pummeled by a Polly Pocket doll. He leveled her with dangerous look, and Kitty dropped her hand. I still think she worries, after all this time, that at some point he might just reach out and snap her little neck like a twig.

Remy shook his head. "You don't understand. When Black Cat calls, you _answer_. It's like you and your stupid little Cadbury Eggs." I noticed Kitty soften a little at the mention of the mini candy-coated treat. Because those things are friggin' in_sane_. It is a **fact**, y'all. You can look it up and everything.

Remy continued. "You know they only come around once a year, and when they're gone, they're gone. So the _first _time you see them in the store, you start stocking up while you can. Felicia moves around a lot, plus, she's got a serious on/off thing going with this guy Peter in the City. So when she's actually available, you take advantage, when you can and as _often_ as you can, because you never know when she's gonna be yanked off the shelf."

Kitty scoffed. "What could this Black Cat chick possibly have that's as awesome as Cadbury Mini Eggs?"

"Her tits are huge." Remy nodded, holding his hands out like a foot from his chest. "Like watermelons."

"Oh, _ugh_!" Kitty exclaimed, smacking his hands down.

"It's the middle of the afternoon," I pointed out. "Don't slutty people usually hide their shameful behavior under the cover of nightfall? And motels?"

Sadly, Remy wasn't fazed by my wicked insult. "'Licia's in the Profession." That's code for '_she's a thief like me_'. And I totally noticed that he's already got a nickname for her. Goody. "She's working a job tonight. And motels are for prostitutes."

I gave him a pointed look. "Yeah, exactly."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Felicia's not a prostitute."

"... at least that makes one of you..." I muttered under my breath as I rolled my eyes.

Kitty started rubbing her temples, clearly having trouble keeping herself together. "Well, I sincerely hope this whore is like the best effing sex you've ever had, since you're completely screwing me over here."

Remy chuckled. "Best overall experience, no. That one goes to Rogue." It's nobodies business, really. But I'm pretty f***ing proud of that one. Especially since I'd just insulted him like 10 seconds earlier. I mean, Remy's super promiscuous. He has almost no standards, which means he's had a buttload of sexual partners. And I'm the best. Yeah, that's right. All you other bitches can step to the left, yo, cuz this one's got skills. Anyway, continuing on... "But on strictly physical technicality and skill? Yeah. _Hell_ yeah."

Kitty threw her hands up in exasperation. "Well, what the hell am I gonna do? The shower is supposed to start in," she checked her watch, "twenty minutes, and we've got nowhere to hold it! I mean, how in the world am I supposed to find a place that can accommodate a large group of people without a reservation, or a reservation _fee, _that also has couches and a sound system for the baby-themed karaoke game?"

"What is baby-themed karaoke?" I asked.

"It's that thing," she explained, "where everybody sings karaoke, but all the songs have the word baby in them a lot. Like, _Baby Love_, or _Hit Me Baby One More Time_, or TLC's _Baby, Baby, Baby_."

"How the hell is that a game?"

"Oh, well, the thing is, you can't say the word 'baby', and if you do you're out."

"Ladies," Remy interjected, "I actually know a place."

I looked at him like he was nuts. "Where?"

He smirked. "Gentleman's Choice."

Kitty raised an eyebrow. "The gay bar?"

"No," Remy chuckled, shaking his head. "The other one."

There's something you should know. We live in a weird town. Not only did this small northeastern New York suburb at one point house three separate mutant vigilante groups within its small borders, but we also have two different business establishments named Gentleman's Choice. This first is a gay bar.

And the second... is the new location of Jean's baby shower.


	4. Gentleman's Choice Pt 1

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'LizzieTurbo'.

**Entry number four**

We walked inside the doors of the new location, our eyes adjusting to the low lighting as our senses were assaulted by the loud pumping of a bass beat from the sound system, the smell of baby oil lingering in the air. I heard Kitty let out a choked sob.

"I can't believe I'm throwing a baby shower in a strip club."

Yup, that's the other Gentleman's Choice. I told you. Bayville is a weird place, man.

"I can't believe we're having a baby shower in a strip club!" Alex echoed as he walked in behind us, only with a whole hell of a lot more enthusiasm in his voice. He rubbed his hands together like a kid in a candy store as he looked around the place.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why are you even here?"

Kitty turned around, glaring at him. "Yeah, this is a girls-only event."

"Calm down, Jem," Alex said, putting his hands up in defense. "I'm the uncle! Someone's gotta muscle the haul back into the jeep when this shindig is all done. It's my duty. Besides," he added, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Jean who was checking her coat at the door, unfazed by her unusual surroundings, still completely stuck in her pregnancy-misery fog, "the mommy-to-be said I could come. So relax, bunny!" His eyes cut away from Kitty as a scantily clad waitress passed by. "Speaking of bunnies..."

Kitty looked at me sideways and let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course Jean would give the okay. She didn't even notice that she just gave her new Prada jacket to a woman in a bow-tie and a thong.

There was a small round table with a bunch of chairs and a couple couches surrounding it all ready and reserved for us up by the front and off to the side of the main stage. Remy and the club's owner are poker buddies, so he called ahead and had the whole thing set up for us before we got there.

(Sidenote: Remy gets really offended if you assume the reason he's friend's with a strip club owner is because he's such a loyal customer. I guess it's an insult to imply that he might have to pay a cover charge to see a woman's breasts. Now, excuse me while roll my eyes dramatically...)

We all made our way over to sit down, and I mean '_all_'. Myself, Kitty, Great-Big-Puffy-Version-of-Jean, and all the New Recruit girls. Including Illyana, much to Kitty's chagrin. And Storm, who I assume was there mostly to ensure that it wasn't an issue that Remy's friend didn't card us at the door. We weaved our way though the various tables and chairs with our cute little pink presents in hand as we tried our best to avoid the leers from the late afternoon costumers. Which included a disturbingly large number of men in sweatpants. Just sayin'. It was at that point that I regretted wearing one of my lower-cut tops that day. Of course, when I chose my outfit that morning I hadn't known that I would be going somewhere where my chest would possibly be a focal point. Thankfully, the male population was soon distracted as a dark skinned girl in a neon green bikini took the stage, and we were able to sit down in peace.

"Alright," Kitty announced as we all got situated, "let's get this thing started. I was thinking we'd begin with ga –" She was cut off as the dancer's music began blaring through the sound system. Kitty whipped around towards the stage in outrage. "Okay, seriously? " She sighed and muttered something about the fates kicking her when she's down while Aerosmith's _Crazy_ played in the background. I guess she didn't appreciate being reminded of her drunken karaoke debacle at that moment, because I swear, when she turned back around, I could literally _see_ that she had died just a little bit inside. But she took a deep breath and forced back on a smile as she reached into her bag of supplies. "Okay, everybody take a notebook and –"

"Screw stupid shower games," Tabby interrupted. "Let's see some boobs! WOO HOO!"

All the younger girls echoed Tabitha's enthusiasm. I don't know, maybe they were just excited to be somewhere new and scandalous. Either that, or they just really wanted to see some boobs. In all honesty, Jean, Storm, and myself are the only ones around the Mansion that can really fill out a bra, now that Emma's gone.

While the New Recruits threw cat calls out at the stage and Jean closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her significant weight sinking down into a new and different couch, I saw tears of frustration starting to form in Kitty's eyes.

"Here," I offered, taking the supply bag from her hands. "Let 'em have their fun and get it out of their system, and we can set up your decorations."

Yeah, that's right, I can be helpful, damn it. When I want to be. Besides, it looked like the girl was a few seconds away from a waterworks show, and everyone knows there ain't no cryin' at strip clubs. Although someone probably should have told that to the middle-aged gentleman who was sulking in the back corner. Thankfully sans sweatpants.

Because he was wearing regular pants. Not because he was, you know, pants-less or something. That would have been really f***ing gross.

Kitty turned to me with a watery smile and just sort of nodded her head gratefully, clearly not confident that she could speak without it turning into choked sobs. No kidding, you guys, she takes this shit seriously. So, while the rest of our party whooped and hollered at a young woman sliding around a giant pole to the sounds of Steven Tyler, my roommate and I did our best to make our little corner of the club a bit more... pink. And party-ish. We started by spreading a bunch of that pink party confetti crap on top of our little table. They all said "it's a GIRL", you know, in case the explosion of pink wasn't a big enough clue. Next we set up a few candles, and Kitty arranged the M&M-filled baby bottle party favors in a nice little formation. It wasn't much, but it kind of helped make our corner a little more baby shower-y. You know, if you ignored the horny men, club music, and half-naked women serving alcoholic beverages.

The balloons, by the way, the ones that were such a pain in the ass to get home... those we couldn't bring. But don't worry, I found a suitable place to store them. I'm sure Remy appreciated it, too...

Anyway, we finished up the make-shift decorating and Kitty got all the junk out for her shower games by the time the song was over. Which, by the way, couldn't have come a moment too soon. _Crazy_ is a stupid song for a pole dance. It's too f***ing slow. Plus, the girl kept slipping. And, if I really want to get snippy, she probably could stand to lose an extra 5-7 pounds. I think at that point we were catching the last little bit of the day shift. And trust me, the day shift at a strip club is **not** something you want to see. It's just not. I've absorbed some people, okay? *cough*Logan*cough*. I know things.

Moving on... With the song over and a good three minutes until the next dancer took the stage, Kitty tried once again to get the shower going. "Okay," she announced, clapping her hands together, "like I said, let's all grab a notebook and a penc-"

"Hey there, ladies!" a super enthusiastic blonde waitress in a tight little blue number interrupted as she walked up behind Kitty. "This is so cute! We hardly ever get girl parties in here. Oh my gosh, these are to die for!" she said as she picked up one of the party favors. "So, can I get you all something to drink?"

"Oh hey," Alex swooped in from out of nowhere (or, most likely, from hitting on the waitress in the neighboring section) and put an arm around the poor blonde's shoulders. "I'll take care of the drinks. It's on me, babelinis!"

Storm called out to him as he started to steer the waitress back to the bar. "Alex," she warned, "make sure it's non-alcoholic."

"Of course," he tossed back over his shoulder, with that smug-ass Cheshire grin. "I got it covered!"

I'll give you a little sneak preview: he had it covered alright. Of course, he _swears_ he asked for everything to be virgin, and of course the bartender just _happened _to screw up the order. But we'll get to that part later...

Looking back, I think it was about this point in the evening that Kitty's breakdown really began. Not that she'd been all that cool when Remy told her that his apartment was no longer available. Or when surfboy somehow weasled his way in on the party. Or when everyone decided they'd rather watch an overweight chick grind sloppily against a pole than cut out facial features from old magazines to make a guesstimate picture of what Jean and Scott's baby is going to look like. But it appeared at this moment that she was beginning to lose hope that she could keep this whole thing in check, and the count down to the big kaboom began. And you know that girl can kaboom. You've read all about that already, even if _was_ written in fairy-princess format.

While we were all distracted by Alex and the waitress, Amara had helped herself to one of the M&M filled baby bottles, and the rest of the girls soon followed.

"Amara!" Kitty shrieked when she turned back around. "Those favors are for after the shower!"

With her mouth full of half-melted chocolate, all Amara could do was shrug. Not that any of us were all that surprised. Princess has been putting on some weight lately. Maybe she just hasn't noticed that her teen growing years are waning, but either way, two danger room sessions a week just aren't cutting it anymore.

This all sounds really mean when you write it down. Amara gave me a pretty dirty look when I said it out loud, so I'm guessing it sounds kind of mean that way, too.

Anyway, as Kitty was just starting in on her party favor lecture, Tabby jumped up, pulling Jubes along with her.

"We're gonna go check out the bar," she announced. "I heard the guy here does tricks and shit like that one movie... you know, with Michael Keaton... I think?"

Kitty shook her head. "Nuh uh. No way. That's not on the party agenda."

"Nobody cares about your stupid agenda," Tabby mumbled with a roll of her eyes as she brushed past her, Jubilee and Illyana in tow.

"I heard that" Kitty huffed, whipping her head over her shoulder as they walked away. "And the movie is called _Cocktail_, dumbass!"

"Yeah," I called after her. "And it's not Michael Keaton!" Because it's not. I would know. Not because I have a 'mad crush' on him, as Kitty mentioned a while back. Yeah, I didn't forget about that one either, thank you very much. It's not a crush, okay? It's not. I just happen to really appreciate his talent. Because he's talented. And decent looking. But that's not the point. The point is, Michael Keaton was not in _Cocktail_. That was... Val Kilmer. Right? The one that used to be married to that one Australian chick with all the teeth. And now he's married to someone named Joey and I think he's a scientist maybe. I swear, I only listen to like half the things Kitty says. Probably less.

Kitty scoffed at me as she slumped down in her chair, while the rest of the girls took Tabby's lead and left to go check out the rest of the club. "Yeah, make sure you defend Mr. Rapist Eyes."

"He does not have rapist eyes!" He doesn't, y'all. He just doesn't. If anything, it's his eyebrows. But those are fine too, so just back off. "And I told you everyone would just dig into the candy and totally ignore all the work you put into your stupid ass party favors." I had to add that in for good measure. Like you thought I wouldn't stoop that low.

Kitty just glared at me and sulked in her chair as the music blared and the next dancer came out. At this point, the club was starting to get crowded as men filed in at the end of the work day, and it looked like the first string dancers were now being brought out. This time the girl on stage actually had a sense of rhythm, and I'm pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off her ass. Not that I was paying that much attention, but I'm just saying, you probably could.

Damn Logan in my head.

Not only did the caliber of stripping talent improve, but in a matter of minutes it seemed like the club was crawling with half-naked women. Yeah, we were definitely watching the start of the evening shift. As out of place as our baby shower was, we were certainly a lot less noticeable. The suddenly large number of male patrons hardly gave our little corner a second look, what with the girl up on stage shaking her jugs and a 20-something in a thong passing by every 30 seconds.

Kitty looked around the place with a frown on her face. "Why the hell do they need so many waitresses?"

I just rolled my eyes at her. "They're not all serving drinks, Kitty." Seriously, the girl is so naive.

She just furrowed her brow in confusion. "What are they serving, then?"

There were so many ways I could have answered that, _so_ many, but considering my roommate's world was already slowly crumbling before her eyes, I decided to have a little mercy. I simply nodded pointedly in the direction a slender fellow who was receiving a lap dance from a girl with a very generous backside.

Kitty turned her head to look and then cringed dramatically. "Ugh!" She exclaimed, snapping her eyes shut. "That's my party confetti! It's been... violated!"

I looked again and saw what she was talking about. Lap Dance Girl must have bumped against our table at some point, and some of the confetti had stuck to the baby oil on her gigantic ass, which was now proudly proclaiming _'It's A Girl!'_.

Kitty groaned. "She's like a perverted Cabbage Patch doll..."

"I like it," I smirked. "It clears everything up. You know, in case the giant tits left any confusion."

"Mmmm," Jean moaned happily as she popped another M&M in her mouth, still sitting on the couch completely unaffected by the dance music, cat calls, and partial nudity that surrounded her.

The girl on stage had finished her dance, and as she collected her clothes, the next girl came out and the crowd erupted into a chorus of extra enthusiastic cheers and whistles. Apparently this one had a reputation.

We all looked around in confusion and Kitty mumbled a half-hearted "The hell?". The curvy brunette on stage coyly took her place by the pole as the DJ started announcing.

"Alright, gentlemen, let's get this Happy Hour _really_ started! Somebody call Mulder and Scully, because miss Starlight is in the house, and things are about to get _extraterrestrial._.."

And that's when it happened. Well, the start of it, anyway. Kitty's face paled instantly. Her body became eerily still, and I'm pretty sure her heart broke into a million pieces. You could tell by the way her one eye was sort of twitching in the corner just a little.

"Oh no..." she whispered. "They wouldn't..."

I was about to comment that the DJ's line wasn't _that_ cheesy, even if the X-files reference was so outdated that even _I_ knew it was lame, when the music started.

And _that's_ when it happened.

Kaboom.

As 'Starlight' started twirling around the pole to Katy Perry's _E.T._, Kitty's jaw dropped, and her eyes bugged out."What the f***!" she shrieked. "Are you f***ing kidding me right now?"

Seriously, you guys. She said f***. She wasn't even wearing her leather pants.

Fortunately, the crowd of men cheering on the dancer was loud enough to drown Kitty out. She jumped up off her chair and stomped her foot like a petulant child. "That's _my_ jam!" she exclaimed. "For hell's sake, people, is nothing sacred?"

Again, no one could hear her. I'm sure to Starlight, Kitty's outburst just blended in with all the _'Yeah, baby!_'s and _'Work that pole!'_s. And Alex's '_I got your Big Kahuna right here, momma!_'. I'm sad that I can still pinpoint his voice in a crowd. I must be developing douche-bag radar.

Kitty turned her attention to the rest of the club. "You all should be ashamed of yourselves, _ashamed_!" Again, no one even noticed her little rant. She turned back to the stage and glared. "She's not even that good!"

I swear, Kitty must have been blinded by her rage. Not only was the stripper 'that good', she was _that good_. No kidding. I work out in the Danger Room 3-5 times a week, but there's no way I could do a controlled slide down a pole upside-down and one-handed with my legs spread eagle. That's some serious shit right there.

"Are you serious?" I scoffed. "She's f***ing amazing."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I could totally do that. If I wanted to."

I looked at her skeptically. "Really? You could do _that_?" I gestured at Starlight, who twirled around the pole with just her legs as she ripped open the four buttons of her shirt in perfect time to the _ta ta take me_. "You can't even slide down the Institute's bannister Mary Poppin's style. _Bobby_ can do that, and he's about as coordinated as a developmentally-delayed gibbon."

She turned and glared at me for a long, pregnant moment before the tantrum began.

"Alright, _fine_, Rogue," She spit at me venomously. "You're right. I can't do that. I can't spin myself around a fireman's pole while gyrating to the beat of what is possibly the musical equivalent of my _soulmate_. I'll just add that to the list of other things I _can't_ do, right behind curl my tongue, open my eyes underwater, and _throw an effing baby shower_!" She was back to 'effing'. Just pointing it out. "I guess I'll have to find a new backup plan in case I totally screw up college, because clearly 'event planning' isn't a suitable fallback for me." She paused. "And I should probably cross off 'stripping' as well!"

And with that, she threw herself back down onto her chair. Which, of course, was the exact moment that Alex popped up behind her, a drink in each hand.

"Hey, Jem. Sourpuss shots?" he grinned at her. I swear, the boy has some sort of built-in Vulnerable Hot Girl alarm.

Kitty grabbed the first glass out of his hand with determination. "Hell yeah," she spit out before downing the shot in one hit.

"Kitty," I warned as she grabbed the second glass, "you know what that shit does to you."

"Shut up."

I sighed, looking around our little area. "Where did Storm go? Isn't she supposed to be keeping this ship on course?"

"Relax, Brah," Alex crooned as he turned to the waitress standing behind him and handed me a Southern Comfort. First off, I hate that he calls me that. That term is for dudes. And second, I really hate that he just assumes that's my drink of choice because I'm from Mississippi. And I _really_ hate that he's not entirely wrong. "The weather Goddess is right over there," he continued, nodding his head towards the far corner of the room where Storm was seriously engaged in conversation with a short-haired red-head in a catholic school outfit. "Brittany over there is working on her PHD, in Women's Studies. I met her by the bar, and I just knew those two would hit it off."

"Of course you did..." It's a little scary how good Alex is at setting up any situation to turn into Girls Gone Wild. It's like his special little talent. You know, besides that whole energy-shooting thingy he does. Actually, I think the energy-shooting must be his secondary mutation, because he's a whole hell of a lot better at the dipshit thing.

I was about to protest, maybe call Storm away from the fascinating naughty schoolgirl, when I looked around the club. All in all, it seemed like everyone was having a good time. I noticed a few of younger girls watching the bartender spin bottles, and Tabby had moved on and turned the back of the club into a makeshift dance floor, along with a few ladies from the club and a couple of men. Jean was out of the house for the first time in weeks, and with college starting soon, Kitty and I certainly deserved a night out. Especially Kitty. That girl has got to learn to unclench sometimes. As long as she could keep the sourpuss in check, who the hell was I to shut the party down?

Kitty reached forward and grabbed another glass as the waitress placed her tray full of drinks down on our table.

"Woo!" she called out with mock-enthusiasm, tossing back her third shot. _E.T._ was just finishing up, and Starlight was making a dramatic exit. "That was amazing! Totally didn't shatter my entire world view or anything!" She raised her empty glass, still jeering sarcastically. "Yeah, don't mind me, just keep on shaking that ass! No, yeah, just work the panties there, that's right..."

And that's when the party _really_ got started...


	5. Gentleman's Choice Pt 2

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'Lizzieturbo'. (Who will get around to those review replies one of these days. Soon. She swears.)

**Entry number five**

So, when we last left off, Kitty's had just started her drinking binge. You know, standard baby shower protocol... [insert eye roll]

I took her off the sourpuss shots, because she was throwing those things back a little too fast for my liking. I convinced her to switch to a Margarita, which she could sip at a slower pace, although I'm pretty sure it was the tiny umbrella and the Jimmy Buffet song that did most of the convincing. I knew that meant she was probably going to be puking in the morning, but quite frankly, that's wasn't my problem. I had the here and now to worry about.

For a while, we all just kind of had a good time. Really, once we dropped the pretense that it was supposed to be a baby shower, it turned into a pretty fun party. We drank, we danced, we flirted with the men in the club. And, as it turned out, a lot of the strippers were surprisingly cool.

And, once again, Kitty drank. She drank a lot. I mean, _a lot_ a lot. Which, in this situation, was a good thing. For a while at least. For at least an hour in there, all her crazy Kitty-uptightness was gone and she was just, you know, having fun.

"You know, Kitty," I said to her as we watched one of the dancers do a fairly descent _Flashdance_ rendition, "you're not going to fail college."

She took a long sip on her hot pink bendy straw before replying. "You don't know that. Lots of people fail college. They have statistics about it and stuff."

"Yeah, that's true," I nodded. "You _could _fail. But you're not going to."

Kitty snorted inelegantly, and then started coughing as some of her Margarita got caught in her nose.

"You stress about stupid things," I pointed out as I handed her a napkin. "It's just college, for hell's sake. If Natalie Portman can graduate from Harvard, I think our '_self proclaimed genius student_' can handle Columbia."

"Natalie Portman was a friggin' Senator in the Galactic Republic!"

I rolled my eyes. "Natalie Portman got knocked up by a male ballerina." See, I do pay attention some of the time. "I'm pretty sure you can do better than that."

Kitty thought about that for a second. "You're right."

"Of course I am," I nodded. "If anyone's going to f*** this up, it's me."

"I _am_ the '_self proclaimed genius student_', afterall," she continued, completely ignoring my statement.

"I mean, what the hell kind of major is Mutant Studies?" I asked, more to myself at this point. "I can't believe I let the Professor talk me into declaring that one. Why the f*** would that be a good choice for someone who barely passed Jewelry Making... in high school."

"I probably know like 85% of what I'm going to study already."

"If anything," I continued, "I should be doing one of those phoney, pointless majors. Like Jazz Studies. Or Communications."

"I'm going to kick college's scrawny little butt!" she declared, dropping her empty glass down on the table.

I turned to her. "And if not, you can always fall back on being a homemaker for Piotr. That is, if you can actually get him to propose to you."

She huffed, putting her hand up to call over the waitress for another drink. "Totally uncalled for, dude."

"_'Oh, don't say that, Rogue! You'll do fine at college, Rogue! You're smart too, Rogue!'_" I mocked. "Seriously, Kit, where the hell were you on that one?"

"We're dealing with _my_ breakdown tonight," she pointed out as she crossed her arms. "Don't dogpile your issues on top of mine. You can have your own Chernobyl tomorrow."

"Fair enough," I shrugged, slumping down in my seat.

"And, you know, Natalie Portman is actually really, _really_ smart. Just saying."

"Shut up, Kitty."

The waitress arrived to take our drinks. I ordered another beer, and Kitty requested '_anything with a mini umbrella_'. She's ridiculously serious about the whole makes-me-feel-like-a-giant thing. The waitress was about to walk away when a small, tired voice called out to her from our left.

"And another virgin strawberry daiquiri, please."

We all turned, a little surprised that Jean was still just sitting there on that couch. Honestly, I'd kind of forgotten about her. I think we all had.

"Oh, sweetie!" the waitress said, sitting down next to her. "You look miserable. Let's see, you must be... 37 weeks?"

Jean looked at her. "38. How did you guess?"

She just chuckled. "I know that look. I remember seriously asking my doctor if he could put me into a medically-induced coma so I wouldn't have to experience the last few weeks of being a human incubator. He laughed at me, and I almost broke his nose."

Jean scrunched her brow in confusion. "Wait, you were pregnant?"

"Yeah," Kitty chimed in, "_you_ were pregnant?"

The waitress nodded. "And if you can believe it, I think I was even bigger than you. By the end, my skin was so tight, I worried that if I accidentally got poked with something sharp, my stomach might pop like a balloon."

"But..." Jean stammered. She looked down at the waitress's belly button ring. "... you're so skinny."

She just laughed. "You'd be amazed at what the body can recover from."

Jean just shook her head, like she was trying to break loose the cobwebs. "You're so skinny. And I'm so fat. I'm huge. I'm just a big, huge _thing_ now. I can't even put on my own socks anymore."

"It's true," I pointed out. "The other day she dropped her keys in the doctor's office parking lot, and her husband had to drive across town to come pick them up for her."

Jean sighed. "I'll never be skinny again."

"Oh honey," the waitress said sweetly, putting an arm around Jean's shoulders. "I know it feels that way now. But I promise, it will be over soon. And you will get your body back. I was just as huge as you, if not bigger, and look at me now!"

Jean just looked at her quietly for a moment. "... I can be skinny again?"

And I swear, in that moment, you could see that the fog was slowly lifting from around her. There was life forming in her eyes again. The real Jean was coming back. There was light at the end of the tunnel now.

The waitress chuckled again. "Yes, you can. But, I won't lie, you will have to work for it. Breastfeeding does wonders, but you'll also need to eat carefully. Certain exercises help, too."

"Like what?" Jean asked.

"Well, anything that focuses on ab strength, really. Pole dancing is actually a great postpartum workout. Really isolates the core. The owner here let me work the noon to five shift while I worked on getting the baby weight off." She turned to Kitty and I. "The male customers aren't as picky during the day shift."

See, told ya.

"And your husband didn't mind staying home all day with a newborn?" Jean asked.

She shook her head. "I'm not married."

"Oh!" Kitty chimed in excitedly. "Who's the father, then? Was it someone here? Was it a John?" In case you didn't know, when Kitty drinks, she has a hard time locating her censor button.

The waitress scoffed, crossing her arms. "I'm a stripper, not a prostitute." She turned to Jean. "The father was actually my high school sweetheart. We were engaged when I got pregnant. It wasn't the way I had planned it, but I figured, hey, we were going to have kids together someday anyway, now that part's just coming a little earlier. Of course, that was before he decided to leave me and his unborn child for some blonde he met at Gentleman's Choice."

"You mean here?" Kitty asked.

"No," she shook her head wryly. "The _other _one."

"_Ooooh_."

"Men are assholes," Jean declared.

"Yeah," I joined in. I pointed at Jean. "Her guy was sleeping with a blonde bimbo when she got knocked up, too."

"Twinsies!" Kitty exclaimed.

Okay, so maybe both of us have a problem with the censor button when we're drunk.

The two of them glared at us for a second before turning to back to each other, silently agreeing to ignore the Dynamic Inebriated-Idiot Duo for the moment. After five minutes of listening to them talk about breast pumps and sleep training, Kitty and I realized we were never going to get those drinks we ordered, so we got up and made our way to the bar to get them ourselves.

The bartender's _Cocktail_ routine was super lame. All he did was throw a bottle up in the air, and then catch it in his other hand. He didn't even spin around or anything. Not that I was really expecting some high caliber trick drink-mixing in a Bayville strip club, but still... just a little disappointing. Kitty and I sat and nursed our drinks at the bar for a few minutes, silently hoping that at any second he was going to start pulling out the A-Plus moves, when a super-bleached blonde waitress in a sparkly pink bra and panty set approached the bar. After she turned her drink order in to Dave, the world's least exciting bottle thrower, she turned to Kitty and I.

"Hey," she started, "you guys are here with the baby shower, right? You're Remy's friends, aren't you?"

Kitty nodded, and then choked on her umbrella drink for a moment before answering. "Yeah, we're his roommates. Well, sort of. How do you know him?"

Miss Pink Sparkles leaned back against the bar. "Oh, Rem-Rem and I go waaaay back. He's been in my little black book for ages!" She smiled at us, and it was more than just a little reminiscent of the shit-eating grin that Remy does. I kind of wanted to vomit in my mouth, just a little. "I'm Crystal."

Okay, side note: Seriously, if you're going to name your child Crystal, there's like an 85% chance she's going to become a stripper. It's just a fact. Parents, you need to think these things through. If all you have to do is add the word 'Chandelier' on the end and you've got a great stage name, your baby girl's gonna take her clothes off for money. I have your evidence right here.

"I'm Kitty, and this is Rogue."

"Hmph." I was taking a sip. That was the best she was gonna get.

"Rogue?" Bleach Blonde's eyes lit up with recognition as her gaze turned to me, which is really odd coming from a stripper you've never met before.

"Um... yes?"

"You're Remy's girlfriend!"

"Uh-"

"Oh, he told me all about you!" she began excitedly. "Well, not _all_ about you. It was forever ago, last year maybe, Remy calls me up and tells me he just broke up with some bitch that wouldn't let him to touch her, or something? Anyway, he needed a little pick me up, asked me if I'd let him give it to me rough while he called me Rogue. Poor thing, he was, like, _so_ upset."

Kitty's mouth hung open a little.

"Yeah," I grunted sarcastically. "Sounds like it."

"But I heard you two had gotten back together," she added, chomping on a piece of bright pink bubble gum that matched her 'outfit', for lack of a better term. "You are one lucky girl, that Remy is something else."

I snorted. "Yeah, he's 'something' alright. But we're actually broken up again."

Barbie Sparkles tried to keep a straight face, but I totally noticed her eyes light up. "Oh, really?" She put on a good show, sticking out her puffy bottom lip and everything. "You poor thing, you must be heart broken."

"I'm fine," I waved her off. Seriously, like I want to talk about this with one of Remy's regular f*** buddies. The stripper. Who seems none too disappointed to hear that my ex has been let off the leash."It was mutual."

I glared at Kitty as she gave me a look. Because it _was_.

"Well, still," Strippy continued, now hardly faking the sympathy as Dave returned with her drink order, "it's always sad when things don't work out. Especially with someone like Remy, he's such a sweetheart."

Kitty and I both choked on our drinks at that. At the same time. Like, synchronized lack of coordination. But seriously, I don't think anyone has ever put 'Remy' and 'sweetheart' in the same sentence before.

"Um..." Kitty stammered, "seriously?"

"Oh yeah," Strips-Alot nodded as she turned to grab her now-full tray off the bar. "He's a total gentleman. Keeps clean sheets on his bed, doesn't freak about letting me use his shower, and he always insists on paying for my cab ride home afterwards." She gave us a sage look as she balanced the tray on her hip. "It is so hard to find a guy with manners these days, am I right, girls?"

"Sing it, sister," Kitty announced, raising her glass.

As Blondie McStrip-Strips left to go serve her drinks, Kitty turned to me with a drunk, sympathetic look. If you don't know what that is, it's kind of like one of those big-eyed lemurs when it's just waking up.

"Roguey," she slurred a little. I think that last umbrella thingy was really starting to kick her ass. "are you okay?"

"Why the hell wouldn't I be okay?"

"Because," she explained, "we just had a run in with your ex-lover's lover."

"Never say 'lover' again, Kitty. It just sounds wrong coming from you."

"And she was trying to be so sweet! Like we should all be... I don't know, buddies or something. As if!" She furrowed her brow and looked at me seriously. "Do you want me to fling my poop at her, Penny?"

"I'm fine, Kitty."

Honestly, I have no idea what she was talking about. Because I was fine. I _am_ fine. I also don't know why she called me 'Penny'. I've learned that sometimes it's best just to ignore it when Kitty makes no f***ing sense. It's faster than getting the explanation, at the very least.

But, to reiterate, I'm _fine, _okay? We're broken up. It's over. And no one got hurt and neither one of us is the 'winner' or the 'victim' or any of that shit, and it's just... There's just no point in crying over spilled milk, alright?

"And how come the girl who dances topless has to be slutty, too?" she continued indignantly. She turned toward the direction Stripper-ella had pranced off in. "Hey! Rise above your profession, lady! Stop perpetuating the stereotype!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, calm down, Norma Rae. Strippers are just like regular people, which means there's bound to be at least one slut in every group."

She stared up at me. "So wise you are, Master Yoda."

I nodded. "Besides, they're not all like that. Sure, there's Slutty Stripper. But, there's also Mommy Stripper," I said, looking over at her section. "And Tattoo Stripper," looking at the girl on stage with an impressive set of sleeves, "and Tomboy Stripper, and Hippy Stripper..."

"Daddy-Issues Stripper," Kitty added, nodding at the girl to our left hanging off a 50-something banker. She looked over at the school-girl with Storm. "And PHD-Student Stripper..." She paused, before her face lit up. "Like Doc! It's the seven dwarfs of Strippers!"

The night dragged on, and Kitty continued to drink. And drink, and drink, and drink. I smartly stopped myself not long after our little encounter with Princess Bottle-Blonde, but Kitty, she just kept on going. And going, and going, and going.

I think you get the idea.

Kitty had passed the 'letting loose and having fun' drunk stage and was deeply entrenched in the 'holy hell there are no braincells left in this hot mess' stage by the time Storm finally pulled herself out of that super engaging conversation and realized what a disaster the party had become.

Since I was the only other person sober enough to help (besides Jean, who was looking more bright-eyed now but just as Whale-sized, thus not in any shape to assist), I was put to the task of rounding everybody up so we could hightail the collective train-wreck back to the Mansion before anything really bad happened.

I swear, I only left Kitty's side for like 15 minutes. Maybe 20. And it wouldn't have been so long if it hadn't been so damn hard to pry Tabby away from the 30-year-old construction worker on whose lap she'd been sitting and convince her that he was not her new boyfriend. But by the time Storm and I had sheep-dogged the rest of our group to the front entrance, Kitty was no where to be found.

I did a lap around the place looking for her while Storm kept an eye on the natives and Alex carted the gifts back out to the van. We never did get around to opening those things. I was just starting to get worried when the stage lights went up, and out from behind the velvet curtains comes little Miss Pryde, locked arm in arm with that one stripper Starlight like a couple of besties. I don't know when that happened, because again, she was only gone from my side for 20 minutes. Maybe 25. Perhaps they bonded over their mutual love of Katy Perry songs or something. But either way, there she was, her grip on Starlight the only thing keeping her walking in a relatively straight line as she bounded over to the pole with a great big dopey grin on her face.

Starlight lifted the mic in her hands. "Alright, all you Bayville Boys!" The crowd hollered. Seriously, she's got a major fan club in this town. "My new friend Kit here thinks she's got what it takes, so give it up!"

"You smell like baby powder!" Kitty called out with glee as Starlight skipped over to the DJ stand.

As I watched Kitty sloppily test out the pole while her music was queued up, the little voice in the back of my head was telling me that I should stop this. Just hop up on that stage and drag the girl down before she made a complete ass of herself. Logically, this was what I should have done. But, well... it was kind of like that one time the Professor took us all out to a nice restaurant, and Bobby thought the little squares of butter in the middle of the table were pieces of cheese. I saw him reach for one. I heard him mumble "Mmmm, cheese". And I _should_ have stopped him before he popped it in his mouth, but there was just a small (or not so small) part of me that wanted to see how awful it would be.

I'm not exactly proud of this part of me, but hell... I live in friggin' Bayville. There's not a lot to do for entertainment in this town. So yeah, sue me for letting Bobby eat straight butter. And I might have let the drunken karaoke fiasco from Kitty and Piotr's breakup last year happen too. And yeah, I didn't exactly jump into action and stop her from trying out stripping.

I'm not apologizing for this shit, okay? I'm just not.

So, anyway, the music started playing and Kitty started shaking her hips experimentally. The crowd went f***ing wild. I'm guessing half of them must have been as wasted as she was, because no one of sound body or mind would have watched her test out the pole by trying, unsuccessfully, to climb up it Gym Class style and still think they were about to be in for a good show. Of course, I also heard Alex call out "_Hell yeah, Jem!_", and I know he'd kept his drinks in check. But then again, his standards are pretty low.

Apparently Kitty chose "Milkshake" for her song, which is super ironic. I mean, there's no way that girl's '_milkshake_' brings any boys to the yard. Unless I'm mistaken and boys really enjoy taking two, maybe three sips tops and then being completely out of milkshake.

After grinding her hips around with her hands in her hair for a few seconds in a way that might have been sexy if she hadn't been so hammered, she turned back to the pole. The audience cheered her on, calling out "_Oh yeah!_" and "_Take it off, sister!_" as she started twirling around the thing like a second-grader at a playground. I guess they thought she was going to start in on the money moves or something. Sadly for them, she just kept twirling. And twirling and twirling and twirling. I'm not sure if she knew what else to do, honestly. When the song reached the "La-la la la la" part and she was still twirling, the crowd's '_Woo!_'s turned to '_Woo?_'s, and when the second chorus started and was still going round and round, she lost them completely.

Undeterred by the chorus of boos and calls for her to get the f*** off the stage, Kitty just kept on going, turning to grind her tiny little ass up and down the pole.

"Look at me, I'm like a sexy tetherball!" She called out happily. "I'm soooo effing good at this!"

At this point, she ditched the sexy attempts and went in to what I'm assuming was supposed to be some sort of ballet routine, leaping across the stage and plie-ing, using the pole like a rail.

"I'm the Black Swan!" She exclaimed. "I'm Queen Amidala! I'm... that chick that gave birth in a Walmart!"

And that's when the clothes started coming off. Sort of.

She tried pulling her shirt up over her head, but undressing is one of those things that's kind of hard to do when you're in a state where you can't sing the alphabet and point to your nose at the same time. She got it about halfway up before her arms became entangled with her bright yellow t-shirt and she was trapped. She just stood there, jerking and fumbling with her arms about her head and her pink polka dot bra exposed as Kelis thumped in the background.

I took that as my cue that the fun was over and it was officially time to derail this train wreck. I started for the stage before Alex rushed past me.

"I got this, Brah." Seriously, I hate it when he calls me that.

Surf-boy pushed his way through the thoroughly annoyed crowd and bounded up on stage like a flying squirrel.

"Alright, Jem," he crooned as he put his arms around her, "I think these boys have had their fill."

He corralled her to the edge of the stage – not bothering to fix her shirt, mind you. Ass. – and then helped her down. As we got her back to the front entrance with the rest of our group, I noticed Illyana had her cellphone out and was filming the entire ordeal.

"Best. Blackened mail. Ever." she said with a wicked little grin. She looked at me mischievously. "I'm going to save this for a day that is raining."

I probably should have scolded the little sprite, or at the very least, corrected her English. Kitty _is_ my home-girl, after all. But no one made her get up on that stage. And no one told her to attempt to take her clothes off. I might have been the one that paid for her margaritas and brought up Natalie Portman, but it's still a huge stretch to blame this one on me. Nope, this was all on Kitty.

Although, that seems kind of mean, considering how the night turned out for her. And the following morning. FYI, there was puke, as predicted.

I guess if we're gonna blame anyone, it should be Remy. He _was_ the one that sent us to a strip club. Or we could blame Alex. He started in with the alcohol, cheered on the stripping, and it was _his_ brother that knocked up Jean, creating the need for a baby shower in the first place.

So yeah, we're gonna put this one on Alex. And definitely not me. Nope. Nuh uh. There is no way I'm feeling guilty about the way that shit-fest turned out.


	6. The morning after

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'Lizzieturbo'. (Sorry for the delay. My house was cursed with a bout of the plague.)

**Entry number six**

I was awoken the next morning at the butt-crack of dawn by the sound of puking.

Wait, is that right, 'awoken'? Awakened? I have no frakkin' idea. Okay, crossing 'English' off my list of potential alternate college majors.

Anyway, the point is, my beauty sleep was interrupted by the obnoxiously loud retching coming from our ensuite bathroom. Seriously, that might be one of the worst ways to wake up, coming in a close second to this one alarm clock that Kitty used to have. I swear, that thing sounded like an air-raid siren. We greeted the day with mild cardiac arrest for a full week before the piece of crap was inexplicably destroyed in an episode of joint blackout rage. That's right, Kitty joined in. She needs her full 8 hours just as much as I do.

Our new alarm clock lets you choose from the sounds of six different farm animals. We now wake up to oinking pigs. But I digress.

I checked my bedside clock (5:45. AM. _Damn_) before reluctantly getting out of my comfortable blanket cocoon and made my way over to the bathroom just as the toilet flushed. Leaning against the door frame, I took in the sight before me. There sat Kitty Pryde, kneeling before the porcelain throne, hair a mess and mascara hopelessly smeared, her head lying lifelessly against the seat. Thank goodness I cleaned that thing recently.

I think. It might have been a week ago. Or two. That's 'recent', right?

She looked up at me weakly. "I threw up the baby shower."

"Yeah," I snorted, "I heard that. Ugh, and now I _smell_ that..."

She closed her eyes. "This is 'fun time' puking, right? I mean, I remember being pissed, in the beginning. And then not caring. But then I remember having fun. And then... I was Natalie Portman. Or something. I think."

I chuckled, and noticed her cringe at the sound. "Yeah, I think most of this was caused by '_fun_'."

She nodded slightly. "Okay. Well, at least it was worth it then." She paused. "I didn't do anything stupid last night, did I?"

"Um... no." Come on. She was sitting there with her face 5 inches from the pool in which we defecate. I didn't think it was the right time to tell her that she'd attempted to take her clothes off for the delight of strangers. And that Illyana filmed the entire thing.

She reluctantly opened one eye to look at me. "You look fabulous. Why do you look fabulous? You suck."

I shrugged. "We got back at like 9:30 last night. I took four Advil, drank a Labatt Blue and went to bed." Seriously, y'all. It's not rocket science. "Besides, I'm not the one who decided to try drinking an entire strip club."

"I didn't '_drink an entire strip club_'."

"I thought you couldn't remember last night."

"I remember _some_ of it. Can you pass the mouthwash?"

"_Yes_, please." I grabbed the bottle off the counter and handed it to her.

She took a swig straight from the bottle – which _used_ to be communal – and spit it into the toilet bowl before continuing. "I remember Mommy stripper bringing Jean back from the dead. And I remember you giving me the Danny Tanner treatment. Thank you, by the way."

"No prob," I nodded.

She thought for a moment. "I also kind of remember blowing you off. About college." She glanced up. "That was really crappy of me."

I shrugged. "You were right. We were dealing with _your_ issues at the moment, it was rude to turn into something about me."

She rolled her eyes, and then winced at the movement. "Yeah, like I've never done that to you..." She paused for a second. I kind of thought she might hurl again, but then she continued. "You do know you have nothing to worry about, right?"

"I'm a little worried you're gonna ask me to hold your hair back when you puke next."

"I'm talking about college."

"So am I."

"Look," she sighed, "I know you're allergic to taking a compliment gracefully, but you need to hear this, so shut up and listen." She sat back, leaning back against the side of the tub. "You're kind of unnaturally awesome."

"Oh brother..." I groaned.

"Just think about it. You dress like a newly homeless person, and yet you're still majorly hot. You dominate in the danger room, you graduated from high school with fairly decent grades even though you barely opened your books, and every male that you meet falls at least a little bit in love with you."

I rolled my eyes. "That's just the 34D's. You could do that too with a Victoria Secret's push-up and some tissues."

"I'm serious, Rogue. You're one of the Shiny Ones. You just draw people in. You're a total bitch, and everyone still wants you to like them. You call your readers 'dipshits', and you still get more comments on your blog than I _ever_ did."

I stared at her blankly. "You know about my blog?"

She just rolled her eyes at me. "Of course I do, idiot. I found it three days ago when I was googling myself."

"Ew, _Kitty_!" I exclaimed. "Too much information! What you do during your Archie comic time is your own business..."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Not that kind of 'googling'. 'Googling' as in looking up my name on Google. Seriously, you and Logan, turn on a computer every now and then..." She glared up at me. "By the way, I told you that thing about Lance in _confidence_."

I shrugged. "You know what they say about payback..."

"It makes an ass out of you and me."

I shook my head "That's assuming."

"I'm not assuming anything, you just said it was payback."

"It is, but it's a bitch, not an ass."

Kitty closed her eyes carefully for a moment. "I think we've gotten off topic here."

I nodded. "You were talking about how awesome I am and I was awkwardly trying to deflect the conversation."

"Oh, right." She looked up at me. "The thing is, Rogue, you're smart too. You just don't know it because you haven't found your 'thing' yet, like me and computers. But you're _smart_. You've got that quick wit. Hell, you 'beguiled' Magneto, and he doesn't exactly seem like the kind of guy that suffers idiots."

I snorted. "I'm pretty sure that was the 34D's, too..."

She ignored my comment. "If I'm Natalie Portman, then you're like... Jonah Hill."

"Who's Jonah Hill?"

"He's that short, fat kid from '_SuperBad_' that seems to be everywhere now."

I crossed my arms as I looked down at her. "Not really seeing how this is a compliment, Kit."

"Everybody wants him in their movie, and any movie with him in it is like automatically a hit. His girlfriend is disproportionately hot, and he was nominated for an effing Academy Award... for a _baseball_ movie." I'm not really sure how that's significant, but whatever. "He's got that 'it' factor, and so do you."

"Wait, is Jonah Hill even smart?"

"Sure," Kitty said. "I mean, I don't know if he's book smart or anything. But he lost all that weight recently, and that's a really smart lifestyle decision."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Kit. That's super helpful."

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the edge of the tub. "The point is, you're going to rock college, just like you rock everything else. You just need to let yourself believe it."

See, that's the thing about Kitty. Having her for a best friend is kind of like owning a pet hamster. Sure, it can be an annoying hassle. You have to clean up its poop, and the stupid thing is always knocking over its water bottle, and it'll keep you up at night scratching away at the fiber bedding at the bottom of its cage. But when it's curled up in your hands and it nuzzles its soft fur against you as you hold it to your cheek, there's nothing sweeter, and you remember that's why you bought the thing in the first place.

Plus, it's fairly entertaining to watch it run around that wheel like a friggin' idiot trying to actually get somewhere. I may or may not have gotten more enjoyment out of Kitty's little attempted pole dance than a best friend really should have. In a completely non-sexual way, of course. Trust me, nobody found that dance sexy. _Nobody_.

Kitty closed her eyes, reaching up and rubbing her temples with both hands. "I've said too many words. My head hurts. I need an icepick."

I chuckled, stepping forward. "No, what you need is some painkillers." I offered a hand to help her up. "And something to soak up the rest of that booze. Some pancakes, maybe."

She shook her head as she pulled herself up. "It's early, I don't think Pete would be in the mood. Plus, I was just vomiting..."

"_Literal_ pancakes, Kitty."

"Oh... I knew that."

Well, as it turned out, we didn't actually go down for breakfast right away. According to Kitty, she still smelled like baby oil, and it was making her nauseous. And then while she was showering, I may have dozed off just a little. And while I was sleeping, Kitty may have taken advantage of the extra few minutes and played _Tiny Towers_ on her phone for a ridiculous amount of time. Seriously, it's the stupidest app. I have no idea what the point of it is, but that girl is obsessed. She wastes an insane amount of time 'restocking her floors' and 'checking on her Bitizens' and whatever. Anyway, the point is, by the time we got our shit together and made it downstairs, pretty much everyone else was awake and hanging around the kitchen.

By the way, what is up with our kitchen? It seems like half the shit that happens around this place goes down when we're all hanging around the kitchen. You'd think we were a household of obese people. Just saying.

As soon we walked in, Pete looked up and grabbed the Snoopy mug that had been sitting next to him on the counter and handed it to Kitty.

"How are you feeling?"

"Unnghhmmmrr." Kitty is super eloquent when she's hungover.

Pete chuckled. "I take it that means that you are no longer calling yourself 'Padme'."

"Unnghhmmmrr."

"Are you still going to shave your head?" Bobby asked, looking up from his Marshmallow Mateys. "I don't remember that part in Star Wars."

"I think that was the third one." Amara said.

"The old third one or the new third one?" Tabby asked.

"It was neither," Ray corrected. "That was that Vendetta movie. Natalie Portman is hot."

"Was she the chick from Thor? I can't believe that dude got his own movie..."

Kitty cringed, putting a hand to her temple. "Everyone needs to shut up."

Bobby chuckled. "I can't believe you got hammered at your own baby shower. You were _soooo_ drunk when you got home last night..."

"It was Jean's shower," Kitty corrected.

"Yeah, okay," he scoffed back. "Whatever."

He kind of had a point there.

"So freaking funny you guys went to Gentleman's Choice..." Jamie giggled, shaking his head.

"You know," Pete said with a little grin as he handed her a couple of Tylenol, "in Russia, baby showers are very boring affairs. Afternoon tea and finger sandwiches. If I had known they were so exciting here in America, I might have asked for an invitation."

Kitty glanced up at him. "Wow, we've got a bunch of comedians here this morning. A real Bob Hope convention."

Just then, Remy waltzed in through the backdoor, carrying two bakery boxes, and the smile wiped right off Pete's face.

"You," he announced, pointing one of his giant Russian fingers at the sleazy little rat. "I have some words for you."

"Aw," Remy replied, setting the boxes over on the counter, "you shouldn't have."

"I am not joking, Gambit," he said sternly, crossing the kitchen to get up in his face. "I do not appreciate you sending my girlfriend off to that place."

"Dude," Jamie interjected with a mouthful of toast, "it was a _gay_ bar. It's not like you had to worry about her being picked up by some guy."

I swear, the Cabbage Kid is so dense.

"We didn't go to _that_ Gentleman's Choice, dumbass," I corrected, rolling my eyes. "We went to the other one."

I think just about all the boys choked on their chocolate milk at that one. Bobby looked up, still coughing. "You went to the _strip club_?"

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Duh."

His eyes bugged out. "Why the hell didn't you invite _us_?"

I groaned. "It was a baby shower, numb nuts." Seriously, it was too damn early for this shit.

"But Alex got to go!"

"Hells yeah, Brah," Alex grinned, leaning back in his seat. "Best baby shower I've ever been to."

"See?" Remy said, waving a hand in the douchebag's direction, "Good times had by all."

Pete was not amused. "You should have honored your obligations."

"I had a date, Pete. Which, by the way," he added, turning in my direction with a glare, "I was late to. Thanks a lot, Chere. We lost our reservation because of your little stunt."

"Gasp!" I feigned dramatically. "Perish the thought!" Seriously. Like anyone gives two shits that he and Mrs. Big Tits had to stop at McDonalds instead before doing it.

Remy didn't seem to think my sarcasm was cute. Even though it totally was, y'all. "Tying a dozen balloons to the back of my motorcycle? That's just childish."

I shrugged. "I thought it would be festive. For your '_date_'."

He crossed his arms hotly. "That knot you tied was f***ing insane." Logan was a cub scout. "It took me 10 minutes to get the damn thing untied, and another 20 to get the f***ers inside."

I stared at him like he was insane. Because he was. "You brought them inside? Why the hell didn't you just cut them off and be done with it?"

"I-" And then he just sort of stopped. Like the thought had never occurred to him. Which I'm pretty sure it hadn't. He cleared his throat. "That would have been a waste."

"Uh huh. Sure."

He glared at me. "The Prof ain't made of money, Chere. Balloons aren't free."

"You're a dipshit." Kitty scoffed, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Shut up, Minette." He opened one of the boxes he'd brought. "I bought you donuts."

"Sprinkles." She said with subdued enthusiasm as he handed one to her.

Normally, it would have been more like '_**Sprinkles!**_', but a hangover tends to lower Kitty down a couple of notches.

"We met your little friend last night," Kitty added, taking a bite. "Crystal?"

Remy groaned. "Ugh. I hate that chick." He pulled out a black and white twist and handed it to me. Smart man. "She always uses up all my hot water. That ain't free either."

"She said you don't mind when she uses your shower," Kitty pointed out.

"That's because she's a f***ing idiot," Remy rolled his eyes. "She always hangs around afterward. I get that women like to snuggle, but she just parks on my couch and watches E! News. She never gets the point when I politely try to tell her to get the hell out of my space."

"White people problems," Alex grinned, nudging Bobby next to him, "am I right?"

"I need to take her number out of my phone." Remy continued. "I don't think even _she_ knows where she's been at this point."

"Speaking of," I said, "what are you even doing here? Would have figured after last night you'd be down at the clinic getting your shot of penicillin."

"I thought we were going car shopping."

Uh, say what? "What '_we_', white man?"

"Oh, I invited him," Kitty interjected. "Well, actually, I invited Pete, because he knows about cars. And Pete invited Remy because he knows about cars too, and four eyes are better then two, or whatever. Or like, eight, in this case."

"If Scott came too, it'd be nine." Seriously, Jamie needs to be tested.

I raised an eyebrow at Kitty. "What do you mean, you invited them, who invited _you_?"

"Why would I have to be invited? We're shopping for _our_ car."

"No," I corrected, "_I'm_ shopping for _my_ car. You don't even have a license!"

"I have a license," Kitty huffed. "Just because the Professor's insurance won't cover me anymore doesn't mean I can't drive."

"I think it does, Katya," Pete added gently.

"No," she countered, "it just means I'm like... not _supposed_ to, or something. Anyway" she added, turning back to me, "I'll be riding with you everyday up to Columbia, so I think I deserve to at least help."

She looked up at me with those big, hungover Lemur eyes, and I relented. I mean, she did kind of have a point.

"Okay, fine," I groaned. "You can _help_." And by 'help', I meant 'tell me what I great decision I've made after I've made it, completely on my own'.

"Just make sure it's American made," Logan called out from behind his newspaper at the far corner of the kitchen, where he had probably been selectively tuning all of us dipshits out.

"I got it, Logan," I rolled my eyes. "Heard you the first 500 times."

"You come home with some Jap p.o.s. and I'm sending you right back."

"You can't say 'Jap', Logan," Jubilee sighed. "I keep telling you, it's offensive."

"It's a f***ing nickname. You get your panties in a twist every time we call you 'Jubes'?"

Jubilee just face-palmed and let it go. Seriously, they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and Logan is like the oldest f***ing dog on the planet.

He turned back to me. "Just go down to the Dodge dealership, and my friend Doug will set you up. You," he pointed a big hairy finger over at Remy. "Stay away from his daughter."

"Which one is she?" Remy asked around his bearclaw.

"Redheaded broad with the stems that works the phones." Seriously, Logan still thinks it's 1962. I should get him into Mad Men, help him feel more at home.

Remy shrugged. "I'll keep it in mind. No promises, though."

Logan put his paper down. "I'm serious, Gumbo. I already owe this guy money, I don't need you giving him something else to hold over my head."

"Alright fine, I got it. Stay away from '_the stems_'."

"Wait," I interjected, "you owe this guy money and you think he's still going to give me a deal?"

"Just get yourself a Dodge, Rogue." It's like Broken Record Logan. "Something sturdy. And make sure you kick the tires."

"Why the hell do I have to kick the tires?"

"You just do, Stripes. Don't sass-mouth me." He turned to Pete. "You make sure she kicks the tires."

Pete nodded. "Yes, Logan. We will all kick the tires."

Logan grunted approvingly and picked his paper back up. "Good."

So, yeah. This afternoon is going to be a f***ing day in the park. Shopping for a giant American-made tin can with my insane roommate, her spineless Russian appendage, and my nymphomaniac ex-boyfriend. Maybe afterward we can all hold hands and go skipping in a field of daisies... After we kick the requisite number of tires, that is.


	7. Car Shopping, or Car Shopping

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'Lizzieturbo'. (Apologies for the delay. I fell into a lagoon of dissolved Starstuff. I thought it'd take me just a little while to update, but you know what 'a little while' can mean when Starstuff is involved...)

**Entry number seven**

Of all the disastrous scenarios I might have imagined for our afternoon of car shopping, I gotta say, the one that I actually _did_ experience, I did not anticipate.

I mean, I would have put good money on Remy defiling the owner's daughter in the dealership bathroom, followed by our little group being chased off the premises. Or Kitty somehow convincing me to trade all my money for a broken wheelbarrow and a handful of magic beans. And after my roommate spent the entire drive over singing that "Umbrella-ella-ella" song – a Capella, mind you, and like she was auditioning for American Idol – I kind of expected Remy to be hauled off for murder. It was his own damn fault, though. He lied about the CD player in his car being broken as soon as he saw the Spice Girls album come out her purse. It's not like he really left her any choice.

The one I _didn't_ foresee, though, was that I would end up alone with a Russian Giant, standing around kicking tires in awkward silence. Yup, just me and Pete, a-kickin' away.

Of course, as soon as we arrived at the dealership, we lost Remy to 'the stems'. Seriously, Logan should have just kept his mouth shut. You can't tell that guy to stay away from something and then shove a pair of 18 year old breasts in his face. He's like a toddler. With a boob fetish. Plus, with her sitting at the desk as she was, he was able to prop himself up with one arm and lean down to schmooze at her the way he likes – because it highlights his triceps and puts her looking up at his cheekbones at a flattering angle.

Yeah, I've absorbed him a few times. And I'm kind of ashamed of the fact that I find his shallowness to be sort of a cute affectation. I should seriously have better standards. I know this.

Stem-y informed us that her daddy was busy closing a deal with another customer, and then dismissed the three of us to go peruse the lot so she could get back to regaling her new suitor with tales of how fascinating it is to answer phones. I've answered phones, y'all. We all have. Every day. It's not that special, and it's not that interesting.

Anyway, it was about two seconds after we stepped out onto the lot that we lost Kitty. She shrieked "_General Lee!_" and then just took off. There was a Dodge Charger parked in the far corner, out by the street to attract customers. It didn't even have the confederate flag painted on it or anything, but Kitty has a super good imagination. I suppose that Pete and I could have chased after her, but I was _so_ not getting a Dodge Charger. I'm from the South, y'all. I've seen my fair share of Dukes of Hazzard wannabe cars. People down there pull that shit non-ironically. And I refuse to become just another statistic.

So, with Kitty's random disappearance, it was suddenly just the two of us. Alone. And apparently not that many people go car shopping on a weekday morning, because the car lot was practically empty, making the awkward situation just that much more awkward.

Pete sort of glanced at me as he waved towards a group of sedans. "Do you want to –"

"– Oh, uh, yeah." I fumbled over him.

As we started slowly weaving our way through the lined up cars, silently perusing, I realized that I'd never really spent any time alone with Piotr. I mean, I'm sure at one point or another we've maybe been the last two people left finishing our Cheerios at the breakfast table or something like that, but that doesn't count. All the real times we've spent together, we've always had a buffer, like Kitty or Remy. Or like, I don't know, Scott.

So I'm standing there, pretending to be incredibly interested in the info sheet for a '92 Dodge Neon, and I'm racking my brain for any tiny bit of info I might know about Pete that will give me _something_ to make small talk with. But honestly? I just don't know that much about him. I mean, I know he's Russian. And he's an artist. And he's... tall. Maybe someone who's great at idle prattle might be able to work with that, but in case you haven't gotten the memo, I'm not super great at the whole small talk thing. Somehow I'm thinking that randomly blurting out "So, how's the weather up there?" isn't exactly going to help make the situation any less awkward.

Thankfully Pete stepped in, again, before things got ridiculous. "So," he started hesitantly, "is there anything you are looking for, in particular? Besides Logan's requirements, of course."

I chuckled clumsily. "Oh, right. Can't forget about those." I shoved my hands in my pockets and kicked the tire nearest to me. There was a long pregnant pause before I realized that I'd been asked a question and was supposed to be answering it. "Oh, well, um... small, I guess? I mean, I don't want to be spending a fortune filling it up, and I can't parallel park worth shit, so... yeah, small."

Pete looked at me expectantly for a second, like maybe he thought I was going to elaborate or something. I wasn't. "So... a sedan then, yes?"

I sighed. "Um, yeah, sure."

He looked around at the rows of various sedans that we were standing in the middle of. "Well, I suppose we're starting in the right place..." Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I get that I wasn't exactly being all that helpful, but knowing the problem isn't always the first step to solving it, alright? Pete looked back at me hopefully. "Is there perhaps a model that you're interested in, or..."

"Well yeah, sure, but I don't think Tyson Beckford is gonna be in my price range." He just looked at me blankly. "Badumpshhh."

Okay, we both cringed at that one. I don't why the hell my brain tried to do the Kitty-thing in an awkward situation, but clearly I just _cannot_ pull that one off. Seriously, y'all, I think I might be at least a little bit socially retarded.

"Okay, so," Pete went on, graciously pretending that whole... whatever it was... never happened, "we could narrow it down by color, maybe. I know you like green –"

"– No green cars." I butt in unceremoniously. "I hate green. No green. It's a fugly color for a car."

Here's the thing: Everyone seems to have gotten the impression that I'm obsessed with the color green. Don't get me wrong, it's not completely out of left field. I do realize that I wear a lot of green. It's a good color on me, it makes my eyes pop. So, I own a few green clothing items, and all of a sudden everyone is buying me shit that's green. I need new ballpoint pens, Storm gets me green ones. Amara pulls my name for Secret Santa, she buys me a green laptop cover. Sam goes to Las Vegas on a family vacation, he brings me back a bag of green M&Ms from the M&Ms Store. Actually, anytime anyone buys me a souvenir, it's green, which means more often than not it's a frog of some sort, so now everyone thinks I'm obsessed with those too. I'm not. I'm just not. The madness needs to stop here, people.

Pete paused, looking just a little bit afraid of my outburst. So clearly I just made the situation even better. "Alright then. We are looking for a small car... that is not green." He sighed, looking down at the ground. "I think maybe we should kick some more tires for a while."

"Agreed."

So, we went back to browsing through the lot in awkward silence, because obviously that was a better option than actually talking.

Honestly, I'm not really sure what I was looking for in a car. I kind of figured the right one would just jump out at me and say "Hey Rogue, I'm your car. I'm right here and I'm in your price range, so buy me please." This, by the way, is the same way I go shoe shopping, and it's worked out just fine. I mean, I know Kitty says my Doc Martin's are an abomination, but she's wrong about that, and that's precisely why I didn't want her helping me buy a car in the first place. Also, Logan's tire kicking thing is total BS. Pete and I kicked the tires on maybe 8 different cars, and they all felt exactly the same. Like a tire.

As we were checking out the rims on an old Dodge Stratus, an exaggerated giggle floated out to us from the open door to the dealership office, and our attention was momentarily drawn back to where Remy was now sitting on top of the desk, whispering something into The Stem's ear. I turned back to the car and before I could hold myself back, I'd kicked its tire with maybe a little more force than necessary.

There was a moment of _truly_ uncomfortable silence before Pete spoke up. "I'm sorry," he sighed, "but... are you mad at me?"

I scrunched my brow at him. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because I invited Remy on this trip." He paused. "Except I didn't, really. We were talking a few days ago, and I said that Kitty had asked for my help, and somehow he took that as me inviting for him to come as well. But I would never intentionally try to make you uncomfortable, or –"

"– Pete," I interrupted, "I don't care that Remy came along." _Lie_. I did care, I wanted to do this alone. But the addition of my ex-boyfriend wasn't the one thing that ruined that.

"Oh." He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "It is just... you have been short. And you just kicked that tire like you were imagining it to be someone's head."

"Yeah, well," I mumbled, "you might not be entirely wrong about that one..."

He turned back towards the car in front of him. "I'm sure it is not easy to see him... you know... with other women." He glanced in the direction of the dealership office.

I shook my head. "It's not that. I mean, it is, but not exactly. It's more like... I just can't stand seeing him being _that _guy again." I sighed. "It's hard to explain..."

"He is a very different person sometimes, yes?"

I looked up at Pete, a little in shock. "Yeah."

He nodded. "I know what you mean. When we were with Magneto, Remy and I spent a great amount of time together. Sabertooth preferred to be left alone, and Pyro was... well, _Pyro_, so often it was just Remy and I working together. After a while, the two of us, we had a friendship, and a different part of him opened up. It is like... he relaxed maybe, without knowing it, I think. That is the Gambit that is my comrade. And I wish I got to spend more time with him." He sighed. "The Gambit that he is most of the time, _he_ is an ass."

I totally snort laughed at that one, because I'm pretty sure I'd never heard Piotr call anyone an 'ass' before.

But honestly, ol' Pete hit that nail right on the head. I know everyone was shocked that I fell in love with Remy LeBeau, but the truth is, I didn't. Not the Remy LeBeau most people know, that is. I mean, sure, at first when we started dating, he was still his usual slimy man-slut self most of the of the time. But at that point there weren't a whole lot of guys lined up at my door waiting to take me out, and let's face it, man-slut or not, his cheekbones and those abs are total panty-droppers, so I wasn't really in a place in my life where I felt like turning down a free dinner and some light petting. But as time went on, he changed. I don't know if I bring out the best in him (not to be the world's biggest cliché) or if it's like Pete said and he just relaxed, but he was... different. Softer. Calmer, maybe, quieter, and yet more talkative at the same time, if that makes any sense. Just... more real. He became someone that made me laugh, made me feel comfortable, someone that drew me in. Basically, he became my friend, and I honestly _really_ loved spending time with him.

But that person is gone now. So yeah, since the break up, I miss the relationship, I do. But I think even more than that, I just miss my friend.

"But still," Pete continued, "I know I wouldn't enjoy watching Kitty flirt with someone else, even if I was that one that had done the dump." He stopped himself. "That is not right, is it? 'Done the dump_ing_'?"

I scoffed, and moved on to the next car. "They're both wrong, because I didn't _dump_ Remy. It was mutual."

"Kitty says that no breakup is mutual."

"Well that's because Kitty is a moron." I glanced up at him. "Sorry."

He just kind of shrugged, either because he knows I actually love his girlfriend, or because he knew I was at least partially right on that one. I'm guessing it was the latter.

"Look," I continued, because for some reason his comment just broke my last straw or something, "I know everyone thinks that just because I'm a bitch most of the time, I reached in and pulled out his poor pathetic heart and stomped on it a f***-load of times just for kicks and giggles. I hear people talking. But I didn't, okay? It was _mutual_. He wanted to break up, I wanted to break up. I _didn't_ dump him. I mean, if anything, _he_ was the one that broke up with me!"

Pete stopped, furrowing his brow at me. "He broke up with you?"

I stammered just a little. "Well, I mean, not exactly. It's just..."

Okay, so this is the part where I'm starting to think that Piotr might be some sort of Russian Wizard. Because he just stood there, in the middle of an empty car lot, just looking at me all sincere-like and he had that really really _nice_ face, and suddenly out of nowhere I'm spilling everything out to him like he's Dr Phil or something.

"We were just talking, you know?" I started. "Or arguing, I guess. About his stupid-ass father and his stupid-ass Guild and how he's being a f***ing idiot. And in the middle of it all, I say something like '_Well, I'm not sure if I can be with you if you're going to do this_'... but I was just _talking_, you know? And without any hesitation, he just says '_Okay_'." I paused, looking away uneasily. "'_Okay_', like it was no big deal. He practically jumped at the chance." I sighed. "It's not like I was trying to break up. It just... happened."

Piotr got eerily quiet, and for a moment I was kind of worried that I'd freaked him out with my sudden outburst of uncharacteristic 'sharing' (because, quite frankly, it scared the crap out of _me_) when he blew out an irritated sigh, glancing back to the office and muttering something in his native tongue under his breath.

"Well, I wish I could say that I am surprised that he pushed you away like that," he said as he moved to study the next car, "but Remy has a weakness that he does not like being confronted." He paused, examining the car. "Although I suppose this explains why you were locked in your room listening to 'Foolish Games' for an entire day."

I rolled my eyes. "_No_, that was Kitty. She insisted that I '_mourn the relationship_'. She put the thing on loop and locked her iPod so I couldn't change it. And I didn't exactly feel like going out and having everyone in the Mansion staring at me, which she _knew_, so I was kind of stuck." I crossed my arms in front of me. "You know that girlfriend of yours is kind of an evil genius."

He chuckled lightly. "I think she would be flattered that you think her a genius of any kind."

"And the worst part is, after like the 42nd time listening to it, I sort of started to like the damn song. Either that, or my brain just decided to submit. How do you know 'Foolish Games', anyway?"

"We have music in Russia, Rogue. I like Jewel, she is very lyrical." He paused, observing the car in front of him. "For the record," he added, looking over at me, "I think you did the right thing. With Remy."

"You do?"

He nodded. "He and I have had many words on his choices regarding this '_father_' of his. And not just recently, we had this argument back when Magneto disappeared and he was called back to New Orleans as well." He stopped, looking at the car's fact sheet. "This is a very good price for this car."

I stepped to his side, my interest piqued. "Yeah?"

"Yes," he replied, leaning down to examine a long scratch on the side of the vehicle. "It looks as if they lowered the price because of this, but that is simply a cosmetic flaw." He straightened up. "The mileage is very good."

I took a good look at the car. It was a little red '93 MX6, a trade-in probably, and Pete was right – it was _very_ much in my price range. As in, it _lived_ in my price range, took vacations there, maybe settled down and had a few Micro Machine babies. Basically, it was dirt cheap. And actually, it was kind of cute, even with the scratch. Gave it character. Plus, if Kitty ever borrowed it without permission – and you totally know she's going to do that at some point – it'd probably just be the first '_cosmetic flaw_' of many.

"Oh wait," he said suddenly, "It is a Mazda. Logan said –"

"– I don't care what Logan said," I interrupted. "I like it. Let's take a look inside."

He shrugged. "Okay."

I stepped over to the driver's side, and as I opened the door, I noticed Pete was standing up at the front of the car.

"Pete," I chuckled, "in America, we don't sit inside the _hood._"

He frowned at me. "Don't you think we should take a look –"

"– I don't care what the engine looks like if it's not comfortable to ride in."

"But –"

"– Just get in the car, Pete."

He sighed, walking over to the passenger door. "We are looking under the hood later, then."

I rolled my eyes, "Fine, mother."

We both sat down and closed the doors behind us. The interior was nice. I mean, not _nice_ nice, it was a pretty old car, but decent for its age. CD player was adequate. Steering wheel felt good, driver seat had good enough lumbar support.

"Hmmm," I said thoughtfully. "This is good. Not huge, but roomy enough." I glanced over at Pete, who was sort of jammed up a little on the passenger side. "Okay, maybe not 'roomy' for someone like you..."

Pete chuckled. "No, sedan's rarely are. But Kitty is a bit smaller than me, so I think she'll be alright."

"Right, okay." I wiggled in my seat a little. "Yeah, this is good."

"Alright then," Pete said, reaching for the door handle. "So now we can go look –"

"– We're not done sitting in the car, Pete."

He looked at me. "No?"

I shook my head. "No. Just relax for a bit, I gotta get a feel for the car's vibe."

Yes, I know I sound like a hippy. Shut up. I know what I'm doing, okay?

So, we just sat there in silence while I focused on the vibe. Again, I know how I sound. For me, this silence wasn't exactly uncomfortable, because I was kind of focused on the task at hand. Vibe indexing and all. But I guess it left Pete to wander his thoughts or something, because after a minute or so, he spoke up.

"You know," he began quietly, "Remy and I aren't exactly on the best of terms right now. Because of his Guild affairs."

I looked over at him. "Oh?"

He nodded. "We are still speaking, of course. But there is much tension."

"Kitty never mentioned that."

"I haven't told her about it."

Intrigue.

Pete sighed. "He can just be so stubborn sometimes. He has the hard head, yes?"

"Oh yeah..." I chuckled.

He shook his head. "He just doesn't like being told things about himself that he doesn't want to hear."

I looked at him quizzically. "Like what?"

"Remy, he..." He paused for a second, putting his arm up on the car's window sill as he seemed to search for the right words. "He wants so very badly to be _saved_. It is his driving force, whether he realizes it or not. It is like, he is the horse, and that is his carrot. And he wears it so obviously on his sleeve that is not hard for manipulative men to take advantage."

"Hmmm..."

"And I am not just talking about his father. He acts as if his time as an Acolyte was just a meaningless paycheck, but I was there. He truly believed in Magneto, he _wanted_ to be his under his command. And I believe he was drawn to the Institute after that fell through for the same reason, only Xavier is not the sort of leader that commands his followers. Which is probably why he is being pulled so easily back into the Guild..."

"Interesting." Wow. So, I'd really never thought about any of this in so much detail. All I knew was that Remy was being a dipshit, end of story. But clearly Piotr had been dwelling on this for a while.

Pete shook his head again. "He has so little faith in himself. I think he must feel that his salvation can only be brought by someone else, someone better than he thinks himself to be. It is irritating to watch him fall so easily into the same trap. I wish he could see what I see, but sometimes he is just..."

"... a f***ing idiot?" I so helpfully supplied.

Pete laughed at that. "Yes, exactly. Although I am not sure I would use those words myself."

I grinned. "But you'd want to, wouldn't you?"

He chuckled. "Maybe. Just a little." He paused for a moment. "I am sorry to burden you with all of this. I guess I haven't really had anyone I could talk to about it. I am fighting with my friend, and it is hard."

"You couldn't even talk to Kitty?" I questioned.

He shook his head. "I share many things with her, but she does not know Remy the way I do. It feels like it would be violating his trust maybe, yes? Plus, Kitty is a problem solver. If I discussed it with her, she would want to fix things, but this isn't a problem that can be so easily fixed."

"Yeah. Remy just needs to stop being a dumbass."

He laughed again. "This is true."

Suddenly, our little bonding moment was interrupted by a knock on the car's back window. Pete and I jumped out quickly to find a balding, middle-aged man waiting for us.

Okay, seriously, he looked like he just jumped straight out of Miami Vice. And not even the newer version with Colin Ferrell, but the original. It's not every day in Bayville that you see a dude in mesh shoes, a chest-hair revealing baby blue t-shirt, and a stark white oversized sports jacket. The fact that Logan is friends with this guy had me really intrigued.

"Sorry, I hope it's okay to sit in the cars..." I fumbled sheepishly as I shut the door behind me.

He shrugged. "That's what they're there for. I'm assuming you're Logan's kids?

I totally knew what me meant by that, I did, but that didn't stop the momentary shudder that pulsed through my body at the implication that we might be the fruit of Logan's loins.

"Yeah," I answered, after I pulled my head back to a happy place, "that's us."

He nodded. "Sorry to keep you waiting, I'm Doug. So, you find anything you like?"

I tipped my head back towards the MX6. "Yeah, this one actually. It any good?"

Doug smiled. "All my cars are 'good cars', little lady."

Ugh. Salesmen. "Okay, so... is that a 'yes'?"

"Wouldn't be on my lot if it wasn't."

Again, _ugh_. I seriously didn't have the patience for that kind of bullshit. "You gonna offer me any kind of deal if I'm paying cash?"

"Rogue, wait," Piotr jumped in cautiously. "We haven't even looked at all the options yet. How do you know –"

"– I told you, Pete," I interrupted, "it's all about the vibe." I basically got Piotr Rasputin to admit that his best friend is a f***ing idiot in that car. And he called Kitty a Meddler. I mean, not in so many words or anything, but close enough. It's Magic Car.

"But you know what Logan said about bringing home a Jap," he glanced nervously over at Doug, who was now eying him warily. "...anese car," he added carefully. "He will not be happy."

I rolled my eyes. "I can handle Logan." Seriously, that dude does not like being drained. He can heal from it, sure, but it stings like hell first. "Besides, it's not his car, it's mine."

Pete sighed. "Before you start signing anything," – I totally noticed Doug's eyes light up at the word 'signing' – , "at least let me look under the hood."

"_I drove the General Lee!_"

Out of nowhere, Kitty bounds up to us, so f***ing excited I thought she might blow a fuse, with some tired young salesman trailing behind her. He looked exhausted. Like he'd just taken a golden retriever puppy for a walk, or something.

"I drove the General Lee!" she repeated as soon as she reached our sides. "I drove it, and it was amazing. It was like a religious experience. I think I finally understand what The Tree of Life is about. Rogue!" she exclaimed, turning her enlarged pupils on me. "You have to buy that car."

"No," I stated, with absolute finality. "And what do you mean you '_drove_' it? You're not allowed to drive."

Kitty's salesman (whose name, according to the little tag on his shirt, was 'Cooper'. Seriously, parents, that's just mean. Babies grow up, you know.) went white in the face. "What?!"

Doug frowned at his employee, crossing his arms in front of him. "Yeah, what?"

"I swear, Mr. Reevers, she has a license! I made a copy of it in the office!"

I scoffed. "A license, sure. But no insurance."

Poor Cooper turned on Kitty. "You have no _insurance_?!"

She huffed in annoyance. "I don't know why everyone is making such a big deal about this. So I occasionally park too close and ding a few doors."

Um, just a bit more than 'a few'. And she always leaves notes, with the Professor's insurance info. Which is why they no longer cover her. The annoying thing is, that if she just phased her car door every time she opened it, this wouldn't even be a problem.

"It's just my short game that sucks," Kitty continued. "I'm a totally good driver. I've never actually hit anyone on the road." She paused. "Well, except for that one time with Creed. But it's not like that was an '_accident'_, I was aiming for him. In reverse, with my eyes closed. And I still hit him, which, if you think about it, is kind of a point in my favor, as far as driving skill goes."

Cooper looked like he was going to vomit.

"I'll take the Mazda," I announced, because I could tell that someone was about to get fired, and that would really distract from me getting my car. Oh, and I guess we'd all feel kind of bad if Coop lost his job because Kitty doesn't think things through before she says them. But mostly I just wanted my car. "Take $200 off and I'll pay cash today."

"Rogue..." Pete started.

Doug turned to me. "$100 off and I throw in a set of new floor mats for free."

"Deal."

Doug's face lit up like the fourth of July, and he and Cooper left to go get the paperwork started in the office.

Pete just shook his head. "This does not seem like a prudent way to make a large purchase."

Clearly Piotr knows as little about me as I know about him. I'm not exactly a 'prudent' kind of gal. I'm all about the gut, man. And I may or may not have a bit of an impulse control problem.

"Is this our car?" Kitty asked, examining the vehicle behind us.

"No," I corrected, "that's _my_ car."

"Our car has a big scratch on it," Kitty pointed out.

"_My_ car has a CD player."

Kitty's eyes light up. "Ooh, score!"

Just then, the last member of our rag-tag car-buying team came strolling out to meet us, a 10-digit phone number scrawled across his forearm in bright pink Sharpie.

"I hear you picked out some wheels," he drawled.

Kitty pointed at his arm. "What's up with that? Write much?"

Remy just grinned. "Business contact. Thinking of getting me a new _ride_."

He really didn't need to hang on the word like that. We all got his lame innuendo. We're not nine.

Kitty cringed. "Gross."

Ignoring her, Remy stepped over to check out my new purchase. "She's cute, Chere. But... red? Always thought you'd pick out something green." He gave me that stupid jackass smirk of his with his eyes all a'twinkling. Thinks he's sooooo f***ing funny, that one.

I made Kitty ride home with Remy is his boring old, owned-for-longer-than-an-hour car, while Pete and I got to cruise back to the Mansion in my spiffy new vehicle with its newly cleaned, pseudo-new-car smell and its fancy new floor mats. Those brats didn't help in the hunt, they don't get to share in the spoils. Of course, we were about halfway home when Piotr realized that he never did get to check under the hood. Oh well. I'm sure everything is fine in there. I mean, seriously, it's not like it's a Space Shuttle or something. We're talking about a car here. You fill it up with gas, you change the oil every some odd miles. I'm not exactly sure how many miles that is, but that's Logan's f***ing job. What's the worst that could happen?


	8. Morning Habits of Quirky Female Mutants

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'Lizzieturbo'. (sidenote: I heart my reviewers)

**Entry number eight**

Kitty was up at what I assume is the ass crack of dawn, getting her shit together. I don't really know what time she woke up at because I was sleeping, like a normal person, but I know she didn't go to sleep until 1 am. Trying on outfits. Which is what she was doing, again, when I got up at a more reasonable hour. Or, more like, a semi-reasonable hour. At least at 6am the sun is due to be up any minute.

I get that the first day of college is kind of a big deal, but seriously. Too damn early.

After reaching out blindly to turn off my alarm clock, I looked over at Kitty's side of the room, where she was standing in front of our full length mirror holding a pair of pants in front of her with one leg out, the way stupid people do when they're trying to see how things look.

"Kitty," I groaned, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Baking a cake." She turned back to me with an annoyed look. "Really, Rogue, what does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

I sat up. "It looks like you're still trying to pick your damn outfit, but that couldn't possibly be it, because you literally tried on every single item of clothing you own _last night_."

Kitty scoffed. "Oh please. I own way more clothing than _that_."

"Seriously, Kitty, what the f***."

She sighed, abandoning the mirror for a moment (A miracle! Hallelujah!) as she walked over and plopped the pants on top of her bed. "I thought I had my outfit picked last night," (technically this morning), "but since _someone_ forced me to dress in the dark," (again, it was 1am. Totally justified in telling her to shut the f***ing lights off), "I didn't realize that the awesome hunter green top that I'd picked to go with my tartan skirt was actually my awesome _kelly_ green top, which, while awesome, does not match at all. Plus, green isn't really a 'first day of school' color. I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

"I never know what the hell you're thinking..." I mumbled as I reluctantly pushed my covers off. I paused. "... Do I smell coffee?"

"Hmmm?" Kitty answered absentmindedly. I noticed she was fingering her leather pants, which were laying on her bed with just about everything else she owns. She set them back down, smartly, and glanced back at me. "Oh, yeah. So, I woke up at like 4, because I think I subconsciously realized the whole shirt thing. I don't even own a hunter green shirt, it's way too muted for my skin tone. Anyway, I was suddenly back at square one, but I could barely keep my eyes open, so I made a caffeine run. You need to fill up with gas before we hit the highway, by the way."

"You drove my car to Starbucks?!"

The little brat didn't even turn around. "Relax, I didn't hit anything."

She says that like it's not a very real possibility.

I ran a hand over my face, trying extremely hard to be calm. Seriously, I'll say it again: too damn early. "I've had the damn thing for five days. It took you _five days_ to steal it. You _promised _you wouldn't."

Kitty just rolled her eyes as she shimmied into a plaid mini. "I brought you back a coffee and a muffin." She waved in the general direction of our desk, where the drink carrier sat. "You should be thanking me."

Okay, so, normally I'm not one to let shit slide, but muffins are a lot like donuts. Universal rectifiers of all wrongs. And totally enough to get my ass out of bed.

I sat there at the desk, sipping my mocha latte, and watched in a haze as Kitty did this odd little rendition of demented musical chairs... with clothes. First she'd settle on the bottom half, a skirt perhaps, but then the top she had on wouldn't work. So the top would go out and she'd grab a new one she liked. But that top was too long for the skirt, so time to try some pants. And so on and so on. You get the picture, I'm sure. Let me tell you, at 6:15 in the morning when you're still only half awake and you've got a pumpkin spice muffin to munch on, it's oddly fascinating. Like watching one of those Discovery Channel nature shows. The Morning Habits of Quirky Female Mutants.

Sadly, after about ten minutes of that, my muffin was gone, so I figured it was time to actually attempt a start to the day. I had anticipated that I'd be dragging ass, so I'd showered the night before. I yanked the first charcoal gray t-shirt I saw out of the closet and grabbed a pair of black sweatpants off the floor and threw them on. My hair has grown out a lot lately, way past my shoulders, but I'm still not super comfortable with a ponytail ever since my bob days, so I yanked on a beanie. Bedhead officially taken care of.

As I passed by her on the way to our ensuite to brush my teeth, I somehow caught Kitty's half-naked attention. "Is that seriously what you're wearing?" she questioned, pulling the plaid skirt from before back on.

I rolled my eyes. "That's a stupid question."

"Sweatpants, Rogue? _Really_? You do know we're going to college, don't you? Not a love-in."

"It's too damn early," I informed her around my toothbrush. "I can't handle buttons and zippers at this hour."

She appeared behind me in the doorway, her arms crossed as she glared at me through the mirror. "It's one button and one zipper. Singular. You can't handle one button and one zipper?"

"_Fine_," I groaned after I'd rinsed my mouth. "I'll put on some jeans. Will that make you happy?"

"It'll make me happi_er_."

She scrutinized me as I made my way back to the closet. "You're not even going to put on makeup? You used to be the girl that wouldn't walk out of the house without slathering her 2-pounds of death-face on."

"Yeah, well," I shrugged, "I guess I grew out of that phase. Probably about the same time you stopped thinking mullets were attractive. Besides," I added, "nobody cares what I look like, Kit. They'll be there to learn."

"A), that's so not true. And b), even if it were true, you don't want someone thinking you're just a long-haired man. Put on some mascara or something, at least."

"No one is going to think I'm a man. That's a stupid thing to worry about."

"If you were a normal girl, you'd worry about it."

I rolled my eyes as I pulled up my singular zipper. "I have breasts, Kitty. I think it's pretty clear that I'm a woman."

"Maybe," she countered, as she replaced her top. Again. "But what if someone was only looking at you from the neck up? Suddenly you're just the front-man from Creed."

"Why would someone only be looking at me from the neck up? Do they have some sort of eyeball rotation deficiency or something?"

"Appearances matter, Rogue," Kitty declared hotly. "Okay? They just do. Just because you're too cool to care about how you look doesn't mean you're not still making a first impression on the rest of humanity." She took a breath, softening. "I'm not trying to be mean. _I_ know that you're awesome and that your indigent looks don't reflect the person you are inside, but that's because I was forced to get to know you. I just don't want your new classmates to judge you and think that you're homeless. Or a lesbian."

She means well, y'all. She really does. The fact that I know this is why I didn't feel the need to smack her or anything.

"I look fine, Kitty," I sighed good-naturedly. "Okay? This is seriously the most amount of effort I'm able to put into my looks today."

She paused for a long pregnant moment, and I could see behind her eyes that she was squelching down that physical urge she has to meddle. "Alright..." she finally relented. "But what about me? Is this outfit okay?" She had settled back on that plaid skirt with a white collared shirt that was possibly missing a button or two and holy hell where the f*** did those come from?! "The look I'm going for is '_smart_'. Like, sexy school girl."

"Kitty, are you wearing a push-up?" I couldn't stop myself from ogling. "Just tell me that's a push-up and not something else you picked up on your early morning Starbucks run."

"Geeze, Rogue," she groaned with a roll of her eyes, "it's a push-up. I want to look... mature. Do I look mature?"

This is the part where I tried _really_ hard to look like I give two shits, because I do understand that this stuff is important to her. And Kitty is my friend, even if she is occasionally moronic.

So, I sucked it up and gave her a nice, contemplative once-over, so it'd seem like I was really looking, and smiled at her sweetly. "You look great, Kit. Very school girl-ish." And because I wouldn't be me if there wasn't at least a little sarcasm, I added, "Just give yourself a couple of pigtails and the fantasy will be complete."

She slowed for a second in her route to the sock drawer, and I got a little worried. "That was a joke, Kitty."

"... I know." She still looked awfully thoughtful, y'all.

It was then that I decided there was no point in me sticking around to watch her spend a lifetime on her perfect eyeliner and make sure she did her hair like someone over the age of 10, so I headed down to the kitchen for some breakfast. I know I had that muffin, but I swear Starbucks is making those things smaller and smaller these days.

Anyways, I was slowly making my way down the darkened staircase, trying to decide if an Eggo Waffle was worth the effort it would take to push down the toaster lever, when the scent of frying batter invaded my olfactory senses. At that point I'm pretty sure I just floated the rest of the way like one of those old cartoon characters, my nose leading me via a visible trail of smell. Upon entering the kitchen, I first noticed a giant stack of pancakes sitting on the table. I next noticed a big bowl of fresh, home-made whipped cream next to the giant stack of pancakes. Then I noticed an even bigger bowl of bright red sliced strawberries sitting next to the bowl of whipped cream and the giant stack of pancakes.

I didn't really notice anything else for a good 60 seconds. I might not be a morning person, but I'm _very_ much a breakfast person.

As my pancreas started creating the appropriate amount of insulin to take care of the food my eyes had just taken in, I tore my gaze away from the spread and discovered there were other, non-edible people in the room. Remy was sitting at the table, his half-finished plate a little more than a foot away from the bright red strawberries, bowl of whipped cream, and giant stack of pancakes, and Piotr was standing across the room at the counter, working at the griddle. He turned, probably alerted to my presence by the sound of my drool hitting the floor, and gave me a somewhat sleepy smile.

"Good morning, Rogue," he said politely. "I hope you are hungry."

I stood there, still a little slack-jawed. I mean, seriously. The food. "What are you doing up, Pete?"

He just grinned, turning back to the griddle. "It is the first day of school, yes? I thought I would do something special."

Okay, I'm pretty stoic, but even I did a little internal '_aw!_' at that one. Seriously, Pete really is the good guy. "You got up early just to make Kitty breakfast?"

He nodded. "It is also your first day, is it not? I made it for you as well." He paused, glancing over at the table with a hint of irritation. "And Gambit too, it appears..."

"Hey," he smirked awkwardly with a mouth half-full of food, "you offered, mon ami."

Pete narrowed his eyes. "I was being polite."

He shrugged. "And I politely accepted." Pete just shook his head with a tolerant sigh as Remy turned to me. "Grab a plate and sit down, Chere. You're gonna mess up Prof's nice floors salivating everywhere like that."

I would have been insulted by that remark if it weren't for the fact that I literally had a trail of saliva pooling out of the corner of my mouth. So I wiped myself up with the back of my hand like a big girl and took a seat as prompted.

Okay, so I know that pancakes aren't exactly the rocket science of the culinary world, but still... any food that you a) weren't expecting, and b) didn't have to make yourself, is automatically astronomical. Especially when strawberries are involved. And don't even get me started on the benefits of real whipped cream on, oh I don't know, _everything_. The point is, I filled up my plate and took my first bite, and it was hella f***ing good.

"Hhhhmmmmmmmmmffffrrrrrrggg..." I moaned happily.

Remy chuckled, snagging the last strawberry slice off his plate. "That good, eh?" I just nodded wordlessly as I stuffed another forkful into my mouth. He shook his head, grinning. "I seem to remember getting you to make that sound a few times myself..."

"You wish," I scoffed, wasting little time in taking another bite. Remy frowned, but it's not like I was insulting him on purpose. Sex is great and all, but seriously. _Free food_. I looked up over my plate at him, pausing in my gluttony for a moment so as not to look too much like a crazy person. "What are _you_ doing up so early? Did you sleep here or something?"

I swear, for someone who supposedly moved out, Remy spends an awful lot of time in his old room. Especially these last couple weeks.

His plate now clean, he leaned back in his seat. "Nah, just got here." He reached out and nudged his keys sitting on the table for emphasis.

I scrunched my brow at him as I speared another bite. "You drove across town at 6 in the morning? What the hell for?"

And this is where Remy started looking a little nervous, shifting in his seat for a moment and looking away. Which is fun, because he hardly ever gets nervous. "Well, you know," he started awkwardly, "it's just... it's a big day, right? College, and all. I was thinking it'd be nice to be here..."

I just stared at him. For a good 10 seconds. And then I snort laughed, ineloquently, because my mouth was full of pancake. I managed to swallow without choking before I chuckled, "Seriously?"

Remy pouted, glaring at me. "Shut up."

"No, no," I laughed lightly as I cleaned my mouth with my napkin, "it's cute. Did you make me a sack lunch to bring? Stick a little note in there for me?"

"I thought it was a big deal for you, okay? Just wanted to see you off."

Seriously, he wasn't helping himself any. "Oh, you can see me off. Do you want me to pose for pictures on the front porch? With my backpack on, and my new School Shoes?"

He grinned, finally able to laugh at himself a little. "Do you _have_ a backpack?"

I nodded, picking up my fork again. "Kitty took me down to Target last week. That place was picked clean. I was basically left with two choices: a Cars 2 one that said _'Ka-Chow!'_ across the front, or one of those rolling ones with the little handle you can pull out so you look like you think you're at the airport."

He chuckled. "Please tell me you picked the Cars."

"Hell no!" I declared, taking a bite. "That campus is f***ing huge. I don't care if I look stupid, those wheels are gonna come in handy. Besides," I added, "Lightning McQueen is a dick."

Remy laughed, and Pete turned around. "Do you think Kitty will be down for breakfast anytime soon?"

I shrugged. "She was just starting her hair and make up when I left to come downstairs, so..."

Yeah, Pete knows what that means. He looked forlornly at the stack of pancakes next to him that would surely be cold before they were made of any use, and sighed. And then, because he really is such a good guy, he started on making a fresh batch that had a better chance of still being warm by the time his girlfriend made an appearance.

I turned back to Remy. "I bet _she'd_ be happy to have you take her picture."

"Yeah?" he grinned. "Kitty's turning it into a big f***ing to-do, is she?"

"Oh yeah..." I chuckled. "She's been trying to pick out her 'look' since last night. All up in arms about first impressions and all that shit." I paused to swallow. "I got an impromptu little lecture about my choice in outfit, or lack thereof. That was fun." I shook my head. "You'd think we were taking our first steps on the moon today or something..."

Remy just studied me for a second as I chewed my food. "You know," he started hesitantly, his voice lowering a little, "she's not entirely wrong. Kitty."

I paused, fork in the air. "You got a problem with what I'm wearing?"

Seriously, he can be a dumbass sometimes, but even Remy knows not to start traipsing around in that mine field.

"No, not that," he corrected, shaking his head, "It's just... it _is_ a big deal, you know?" He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's... you. Going to college. Like, that ain't an easy thing. And not a lot of people can do that... and you got a lot of other options. But you're..." fumble, fumble, fumble. He sighed, looking down. "I'm just proud of you, is all."

That's Remy for ya. He can look me straight in the eye and tell me how lovely my breasts are, or give me some cheesy line about my sparkling emerald orbs, but try giving me an actual compliment and all of a sudden he's Mister '_oh hey, I wonder how my cuticles are doing..._'.

"Oh." I know. I'm super great at _taking_ compliments, so I've got all that room to talk. We're a great pair, he and I. But the fact that he cared, even after everything we've gone through lately, it was touching. I mean, it really was. So I tried really hard to look up at him and give him a nice sincere smile. "Um, thanks."

Yeah, I couldn't help the '_um_'. It was honestly the best I could do.

He swallowed and gave a quick glance over at Pete (who was seriously not paying us any attention. We're not that awesome) before continuing. He tried putting on one of his stupid smirk-y grins, but I was totally seeing through it. "But you know," he began with a put-on casualness, leaning forward against the table, "don't you go forgetting about ol' Remy just as soon as those frat boys start giving you all their attention."

He was trying to play it off like a joke. I get that. But I'm also not that stupid. I could see the truth in his eyes.

He wasn't joking. Because the thought of me going off to college and leaving him behind is something that scares the shit out of him. I know this. It isn't news. I know that's how he felt before we broke up, even if he wouldn't admit it, and I know that's how he feels now.

Which is sweet, I suppose. I mean, it is. In theory. And yes, I'll admit, when he said that, with that uncharacteristically unsure look on his face and that kind of quiet sorrow in his eyes, there was a part of me that just wanted to run to him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

But then there was that _other_ part of me that remembered what the hell I was dealing with here.

So, okay ladies, here's a little lesson from Rogue on dating "The Bad Boy". That's right, it's preaching time.

As much as I'd like to think that I'm not one of 'those' girls, clearly we all can see from my history that I have a type, and it'd be silly to deny it. Yes, obviously I'm attracted, as many are, to that 'tortured soul' stereotype. You know the guy. The one who's super hot and kind of scary and rough on the outside, but he's got a troubled past and you _just know_ that deep inside there's a sweet little boy that only needs to be loved, and aren't you just the girl for the job.

It's called the Wounded Puppy Syndrome. You wanna take him home and snuggle him until that tail comes out from between his legs and he's giving you wet doggy kisses all over your face.

Well, newsflash: wounded puppies, while adorable, **bite**. You kick a dog enough times, and he starts to develop a complex. You can snuggle him all you want, but that cute little creature is going to snap at your hand the second you happen to touch the wrong spot.

So, you wanna date The Bad Boy, that's fine. But ladies, you gotta know: there might be a little boy deep down, but that boy is gonna be majorly f***ed up, and he's going to take a lot of work. You just have to know that going in. It's not fun. It's _work_. And it all doesn't just go away with some hugs and kisses. It's not a mental boo-boo that needs a band-aid. It's called baggage, and Remy, with all his great hidden qualities, also comes with his own Emotional Knapsack.

The point is, yes, I love him. I do. That hasn't gone away, it never did. And I know how he feels about me still. But the fact is, he bit me, and I'm not just going to forget that the second he starts giving me the Puppy eyes.

By the way, I'm aware of the irony of all this coming from me, of all people. I understand I'm the Pot to Remy's metaphorical Kettle, and we are both black. It's just that no one seems overly surprised when wounded females have issues. They just call you a bitch.

Dog pun _totally_ intended. Because I rocked that shit.

Alright so, getting back to Remy, being sweet and all. I might have swooned just a little, at first, but then... honestly, it kind of just pissed me off. Because where the hell does he get off giving me a guilt trip when he wouldn't even have anything to be worried about if he wasn't busing being a f***ing idiot?

So, I just looked at him for a second before dropping my fork back on my plate with an irritated sigh. "Well, that's rich..." I muttered.

"What?"

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Like you've got any room to talk about 'attention from other people' when you're sitting there with The Stem's phone number all over your arm."

He frowned, looking down and rubbing at the stain. "Yeah, that was kind of a stupid move, letting her at me with permanent ink..."

I rolled my eyes. "So clearly you've got no problem sowing your own damn oats. I don't appreciate you giving me a hard time if maybe I feel like doing the same in the near future."

He looked back up at me harshly. "I ain't your property anymore, Rogue. You don't get to be jealous about who I spend my time with."

"Yeah, and who's fault is that?"

He narrowed his eyes, his voice lowering again. "I wasn't the one that had a problem with what we had going."

I scoffed again. "No, you're just the one that decided to start being a _dumbass_."

He opened his mouth to reply, and then just stopped for a second, taking a deep breath as he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "You know," he began carefully, "just because you gave up on Mystique a long time ago doesn't mean the rest of us have to give up on trying to have a family."

I just shook my head at him. "And is that what you have now? A family?"

"Yeah," he shot back, "it is."

"Interesting. So, when's the last time you spoke with ol' Papa Bear, huh?"

"Last night," he informed me, with that damn smirk on his face. So f***ing proud of himself. "He's got a job for me upstate. I was just coming by to tell the Professor that I'm gonna be gone for the next few days, actually."

I just looked at him. "Really? Because I thought you said you came by for _me_."

He scoffed. "The world doesn't revolve around you, honey."

He thinks he got me good, but I'm seriously not dumb enough to fall for that one. "So," I started, "if you didn't come to see me, how come you drove all the way out here at just the right time to catch me before I left, a good _three hours_ before the Professor even gets up?"

Everyone knows that Xavier likes to sleep in. There's a reason that Logan runs the early morning DR sessions, and it ain't because of his charming personality and amazing way with kids.

"Two birds, Chere."

Yeah, whatever. "Alright then," I said, letting that one slide, "so if you and Daddy are so chummy, what else did you two talk about, hmmm? Did he ask how your friends are doing? Find out what you've been up to lately? Small talk about the weather?" I paused, cocking my head to the side. "Or did he just call to give you an assignment?"

Remy narrowed his eyes at me. "It was a short conversation."

I shrugged. "So what about the last time you talked? Or the time before that? Surely, after all this time, Jean Luc's gonna want to catch up with his favorite son. Did he ask about me? I mean, does he know we're not together anymore? Or maybe he doesn't even know we were ever a thing."

"Shut up."

"Has he even let you talk to talk to your brother yet?"

At that, Remy went stiff. "Henri's been out of town."

I scoffed. "Convenient."

He frowned, looking away. "F*** you."

I just shook my head. "That's some family you got going for you. Glad that's all really working out, because I was worried he was only gonna use you as his personal helper monkey again..."

He paused for a moment before looking back at me sharply. "Well I guess it's nice to know that you're pulling for me. Here I was, thinking all you cared about was being _right_."

Okay, ouch. Yeah, I didn't miss that hurt look in his eyes. I'm not a _total_ bitch, I don't _like_ causing that look.

"I don't _want_ to be right, Remy. I just _am _right. You're just too stubborn and stupid to see it."

"Well then, it's a good thing we ain't together anymore, I suppose," he started quietly, standing and picking up his plate off the table. "Seeing as you feel that way. Now you don't have to worry about it anymore."

"Yeah," I mumbled, as he walked across the kitchen, "I guess not."

As Remy dumped his dirty plate into the sink, I noticed Piotr again, standing over there cooking. I'd kind of forgotten he was there, but from the way his back was all stiff and rigid, I'm pretty sure he was trying to pretend like he hadn't just heard the whole thing. Even though he most likely had. We've never exactly been accused of being quiet.

His dishes taken care of, Remy stomped back over to the table, grabbing his keys off it without making eye contact with me. He was just about to pass me by on his way to the door when, unexpectedly, he paused by my side. He leaned down, quickly giving me a light kiss on the cheek.

"You look really nice, Chere," he said softly.

And that was it. He straightened up without another word, not looking at me or anything, and walked away.

That's Remy. He's just full of surprises.

So, anyway, I'm sitting there staring at my half-eaten plate of food as Remy walks away, when I hear a small scuffle behind me, accompanied by an '_Oomph'_ and a high-pitched "Hey!". I turned around to catch the ending moments of a Three Stooges scene between Kitty and Remy in the doorway. Seriously guys, walk much?

Remy backed up a little. "Sorry," he started, before he looked down at her and his eyes grew big. "_Damn_, Minette! Got Milk?"

"I know, right?" She grinned as she admired her newly acquired lady lumps. "Best $80 I ever spent. Seriously, don't I look mature?"

Piotr turned around at the commotion. "Kitty, I made you..." And then he just sort of trailed off, because standing there with her hands on her hips, even from across the room she was doing an amazing job at showcasing her newly improved cleavage.

Seriously, padding can do wonders, y'all. If you've got enough of it. Girlfriend was sporting some respectable C's.

Pete swallowed. "Yowzah."

"_Thank_ you," she replied sweetly.

Remy just smirked as he continued on his way out. "Give my regards to Victoria's Secret..." he called back over his shoulder.

"I feel so confident," Kitty stated brightly. "And smart. They actually make me _feel_smart. Weird, right?" She turned to me. "So, are you ready to go? I've got our Shopping Week schedule all planned out, and it's really packed, so we can't be late. We miss a class and it'll throw the whole algorithm off."

I shoved one last bite into my mouth and stood up. "I'm ready."

Pete's face fell a little. "You do not have time for a quick bite? I made you breakfast."

"Oh, thanks babe, but I'll be fine," Kitty said quickly, adjusting her backpack as she popped over to his side. "I've got muffins for the drive. See ya!" She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before heading back out the door.

As she disappeared, I glanced back at Pete. He sighed, looking a little disappointed, but... to be honest? He didn't seem all that surprised. Interesting. So, maybe everything's not so perfect in paradise...

I didn't have long to dwell on that thought, though, as I hurried after Kitty, grabbing my super cool rolling backpack from the mudroom on the way out.

As we drove down the Mansion's long driveway, Kitty was already going on about all the classes she had picked for us to try out during Shopping Week before we set our final schedule, but I was only half listening. Which isn't exactly new, I tend to tune Kitty out a lot of the time anyway, simply because no normal human's brain works as quickly as her mouth, but this time I was just a little distracted. I couldn't help but look back in the rear-view mirror at the front patio and imagine how funny it would have been if Remy had actually taken those classic 'first day of school' pictures with Kitty and her toned down sex-fantasy outfit. On the other hand, those kind of pictures could be construed as a type of child pornography, and the Professor has enough to deal with already without that shit happening on his property. Besides, Kitty and I are college students now. Mature college students.

Columbia University, here we come.


	9. The Phone Call

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'Lizzieturbo'. (Note: I welcome 'guest' reviews, but please, if at all possible, do sign in. It puts my stomach in knots when I can't respond to questions, discuss concerns about my characterizations, or in the case of my last 'guest' review, give the world's biggest freakin' virtual high five ever.)

Also, huge Mountain Top shout-out to Kinetically Charmed for being my J Jonah Jameson, and patting my head and telling me I'm pretty waaaaay more times than really should have been necessary. You complete me, and you had me at 'Hello'.

**Entry number nine**

Sometimes I wonder if I have an impulse control problem. I've said this before. I'm saying it again. It's just, it seems like sometimes I find myself doing things or saying things before my brain has even processed yet whether or not it's a good idea. Like any time I call Logan a dumbass out loud. It's not like I'm scared of him or anything, but that dude is really, really good at payback. And that one time I threw the plate at Remy. I don't regret it exactly, he was being a jackass and he deserved it, but if I'd calmed down and got my bearings for a second there, I might have been able to actually hit him. And maybe the whole Joseph incident was a big mistake as well.

Yes, I'm counting that one as an 'impulse'. A slow, drawn-out, occuring-over-a-period-of-several-days impulse. Shut up.

Anyway, the point is, I have an impulse control problem. Maybe. Sometimes I just act without thinking. Which is probably how I ended up calling Remy.

The first week of college was, in a word, a shit-storm. Which may or may not be a word. But it's a hyphen, so I'm counting it. Basically, it was rough. Not that Kitty and I went into the week thinking college was going to be a f***ing cakewalk. We understood that Columbia is a hardcore University. But we're smart girls, damn it, and we got accepted into the place, after all.

The thing we didn't really take into account was that, as far as school goes, we are rusty, y'all. Like _'Logan's truck'_ rusty. And we had absolutely no idea what we were doing.

So, Friday night came, and I found myself alone in our room, wide awake well past midnight still trying, unsuccessfully, to decompress from the past five stressful days. Kitty was downstairs in the rec room, snuggled up with Pete and a DVR stocked full of all her shows that had come back on from hiatus. Those two are like an old married couple. I mean, it's cute, but they didn't even have to kick the New Recruits out of the room for privacy. Not exactly a late night of unbridled excitement and passion. But I can't really judge them since I spent my evening up to that point reading local '_Yelp_' reviews and trying to figure out what the hell is the big deal with Pinterest. Also unsuccessfully.

Maybe it was the stress, and the late night, and the extremely rare _quiet_ of our room. Maybe it was because we'd left off fighting, and Remy and I hadn't actually _fought_ like that since we were together. And I'll admit, I didn't really like it. Or maybe it was the fact that, for so long, Remy had been the one person that I really talked to. I mean, I talk to Kitty, of course. She's my friend. But Remy was my confidant, the person I told the day's stories to. My sounding board and venting-bitch. So, as I lay there on top of my nicely made bed in the unprecedented silence, I found myself with a cellphone in my hand, and by the time I really realized what I was doing, the line was already ringing.

And ringing.

And ringing.

And _ringing_.

By the fifth ring, I was really starting to regret calling. This happens a lot with my impulses. Anyway, the phone rang for a seriously long-ass time. I had just started to wonder whether he wasn't by his phone or if he was screening the call and trying to decide if he wanted to talk to me or not when he finally picked up the line.

"What's wrong, Rogue." It wasn't even really a question. And it wasn't exactly chipper.

"I, uh, nothing," I stammered. Because a) most people answer the phone with a 'hi', or some other similar greeting, so I was kind of thrown off, and b) I'd sort of forgotten for the moment that after our little tiff, he might not be super happy to hear from me. Definitely thinking at that point that he'd been screening. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. We're all fine."

"Oh."

And then it just got awkwardly silent. He sounded tired. Like, really tired. I hadn't thought about the fact that he'd been working all week, and that generally meant a lot of late nights (or all-nighters) and hardcore physical exertion. I mean, I don't know the specifics exactly of what he does... we've always had a '_gays in the military_' kind of policy when it comes to his thieving. Don't ask, don't tell. But I know it's work. And here I am calling him out of the blue at almost 1 o'clock in the morning.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I shouldn't have called. You're working, and it's not - "

"- It's fine," he interrupted. "Jobs done, actually. Just finished up some loose ends tonight. I'll be coming home tomorrow."

"Oh," I responded. "Well, that's... good."

"Yeah." There was a pregnant pause before he sighed tiredly. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm assuming there's a reason why you called me, so if you felt like maybe getting to the f***ing point some time in the near future so I could get back to watching Sportscenter, I'd - "

"- I had a shitty week." I let slip suddenly, cutting him off. I swallowed. "I'm sorry, I just... I just had a shitty week, and, I don't know, I guess I just wanted someone to dump it on, and so I called you."

And there came that awkward silence again.

"Rogue..."

"No, you're right," I interrupted, "it was a bad idea. See, I'm thinking I may have an impulse control problem -"

"_Rogue_." He repeated a little more pointedly, stopping my ramblings. I heard the television in the background go quiet and the squeak of a mattress and the rustling of materials as he presumably settled back on his hotel bed. "Okay, _now_," he continued after a moment, "tell me about your week."

I paused for a moment, trying to decide the best way to start. I sighed. "College _sucks_."

Remy chuckled. "Well, I could have told you that."

"How do you know college sucks? You've never been."

"It's school," he countered. "And school sucks. I'm assuming college sucks even more because they make you pay for it."

I groaned. "Thanks for bringing _that_ up. I meet with Financial Aid next week. But hey, I have a papercut you can pour lemon juice on too if you'd like."

"Financial Aid?" he questioned. "Rogue, if you need money, you know I can - "

" - You're not giving me any money, swamp rat," I cut in.

"... I can _lend_ you some," he finished after a beat. "Damn, Chere, talk about being presumptuous."

"Oh."

"Just imagine what kind of shape I'd be in if I went around just handing shit out to every cute girl that I f***ed..."

I rolled my eyes. "Ha ha."

"You ain't the first one, either," he continued, and I swear I could _hear_ that damn smirk on his face, "coming to me with a short skirt and a sad story..."

"I'm not wearing a skirt."

"Even better."

I scoffed. I swear, he is just so predictable sometimes. "I thought you were going to make me feel better."

"I don't remember saying that."

I just groaned dramatically in response.

He chuckled. "Alright, alright... Tell Remy all about your pains. What classes you taking?"

"I don't know yet," I answered. "It was Shopping Week."

He paused. "...You blew off your classes to go shopping? I think that might be the root of your problem."

I rolled my eyes. Again. "The first week of school, they let you try out different courses before you officially register for them, that way you can see which ones you like and want to take, or whatever. Like, shopping, for classes. Ergo, Shopping Week."

"Okay then," he began, "what classes do you _think_ you're going to be taking?"

"Well, I kind of liked the Genetics course," I started, stretching out and putting a hand behind my head. "I mean, I only understood about 5% of what the professor was saying, but it was the first day. And that 5% was interesting. I liked Intro to Psychology. And I'll probably stick with Marketing 101, even though Kitty was right and it was nothing like what I thought I'd be."

"What did you think it'd be?"

"I don't know, more like... advertising, I guess?" I shifted the phone to my other ear. "I thought I'd be good at something like that. You know how awesome I am at pointing out which commercials suck ass."

Remy laughed. "Yeah, I remember."

"But it turns out that Marketing is all about... like, statistics or something? I can already tell it's going to be boring as hell, but Kitty warned me about that and I told her she was full of it. If I drop the class, I'll just be proving that she was right, which she _was_, and I'll never hear the end of it."

"Your logic sucks, girl."

"Shut up," I chuckled lightly. "So anyway," I continued, "I'm pretty sure I'm going to need a language with whatever major I end up choosing, so I'm just gonna go with French. Because, you know..." I trailed off awkwardly, because I totally knew he was going to take this part the wrong way, "... _you_."

"I'm flattered."

"I just figure I already know some of it," I clarified, hearing the grin in his voice. "Gives me a head start, or something. Although," I added, "apparently most of the shit I've gotten from you is either just swear words or really, _really_ dirty." I glared at him through my phone. "Madame Wolfe was less than impressed when I innocently told her to go f*** herself."

At that, Remy just burst out laughing. And kept on laughing, for a good 60 seconds.

"It's not that funny," I pouted.

"I don't know," he said between chuckles, "it's pretty damn funny."

"She's going to think I'm a total jerk for the rest of the semester!"

"No," he corrected, his laughter dying down, "she's going to think you're an _idiot_ for the rest of the semester."

"Oh, well, _that's_ better," I rolled my eyes.

He chuckled. "It's not that bad. I can teach you how to say _'do you know where the restrooms are'_, if it'll make you feel better."

"It would, thank you."

"So," he began, clearing his throat, "are you taking any of these classes with Kitty? You know, so you can cheat off each other's papers and shit."

"Like she'd ever want to cheat off _me_..." I muttered. "We're taking a Film class together, because who doesn't want to sit around watching movies for school credit..."

"Nice."

"Yeah. We've got an Art History class too, but that's it. Kitty's got all her fancy-pants computer classes filling up her schedule. Like, Google 101 and Intro to Mouse-Clicking or some shit..."

Remy paused. "They teach mouse-clicking at college?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "It's all over my head. You know Kitty, she's a f***ing genius when it comes to that. Half her classes have a plus, or a minus, or a sharp in the name. I don't understand any of it, she's too damn smart for me." He laughed. "Seriously," I continued, "she made a flow chart or some shit of all the classes we needed to try out, to optimise time and productivity and minimise any time that, you know, actually thinking about what classes we should take would eat up."

"Oh geeze..." Remy groaned.

"But this has it's downsides," I added. "Not actually thinking about what classes we were taking meant we ended up trying out some really, _really_ stupid classes. I mean, they looked good on paper, but pottery 101 is just plain stupid."

"How is pottery stupid? It's just grownup playdough."

"Yeah, you'd think that," I explained, "but if you're a girl, the second you touch the clay, some jackass has to start singing that damn Righteous Brother's song, and suddenly every male in the room is looking over and hoping that things are going to magically turn into a soft-core porno."

"That don't sound so bad to me."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course it doesn't."

"So, okay," he began, "Pottery was a '_non_'."

"Yeah, a big '_non_'. Along with Dermatology - which is not about how to get clear skin and is instead just really, really icky - and Anatomy. I don't know what the hell Kitty was thinking would be good about that one."

"Easy," Remy scoffed. "Nudity."

"Oh please," I huffed, "Kitty does not care about nudity."

He chuckled. "Oh yes she does. Trust me. I've talked to Pete, that girl is a freak on the down-low."

I cringed. "Pete did _not_ tell you that!"

He just laughed. "Get a few quarts of vodka in that guy and he's not so tight-lipped."

"I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear any of that."

"Okay," he began, getting back on topic, "so you had to sit through a couple hours of shit about the human body. That doesn't seem _that_ bad - "

" - Modern Dance." I cut in.

"... no."

"Yes," I nodded. "It was awful. I'm pretty sure Kitty only picked it because she thought she'd look great in a leotard, which she _did_. Damn pixie. I, on the other hand, looked like one of those dancing Hippos from Fantasia."

He scoffed. "I'm sure you looked fine..."

"I _didn't_," I insisted. "Trust me, curves and tight spandex just do not go together."

"I seriously disagree with you on that one."

"I had to be a sunflower!" I exclaimed. "_Interpretively_!"

At that, Remy burst out in a fit of choking laughter. And just kept on laughing. I'm sure that made for an awesome visual.

"It was the first damn day," I continued when it looked like he wasn't going to be responding anytime soon. "The professor was nuts, she said she wanted us to '_dive head first into the sea of expressionist movement_'."

"Aw f***, Rogue," he coughed out once he started getting himself under control. "I was taking a drink!" He cleared his throat a couple times before continuing. "So, I'm guessing that was the end of your dance career."

"F*** yeah," I nodded. "And that wasn't even the worst part of the week." I sighed. Because I really hate admitting this one out loud. "The worst part was... Kitty was _right_."

"About Marketing, you said that."

I closed eyes, flopping my head further back into my pillow. "Not just about Marketing, about everything. My clothes, my hair, my makeup, and the whole f***ing _deal_ of it all." I sighed again, unable to help myself. "Seriously, Remy, I felt like a f***ing joke all week."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"It was. You have no idea. Everyone there looked like they were on their way to a f***ing job interview, which is normally something I'd make fun of, except I was the _one_ person out of like five thousand that was practically still in their pajamas. Kitty was right, I look homeless. I literally look like a homeless man."

"Chere - "

"The first day, when I didn't wear makeup, everyone kept calling me 'dude'. It happened way too many times to just be a coincidence. So the next day I put on mascara, and some _chick_ hits on me."

"She probably wasn't _hitting_ on you..."

"She asked if I wanted to get drinks sometime."

"She could have just - "

"She grabbed my arm and wrote her number on it. With a heart."

"... okay. So she was hitting on you."

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I don't know if I still looked like a man or if she thought I was a lesbian, but either one of those is _not_ good."

"I don't know," he offered. "I think 'lesbian' is better."

"I'm not a lesbian, Remy."

"I know that," he answered, "but at least a lesbian is a woman. You _are_ a woman."

I sighed. "I look like a f***ing idiot at that place. Everyone looks at me like I don't belong there, because I _don't_." I swallowed. "I barely made it through the week. I don't even want to go back."

The was a long, quiet pause. After a moment, I heard Remy shifting around a little. I listened closely as he cleared his throat before speaking.

"First off," he began slowly, his voice taking on that low, brown-buttery quality that he gets when he's serious and scary. Or, quite frankly, when he's trying to get into your pants, "you belong at that college. It don't matter what the hell you're wearing, or not wearing, you _belong_ there because you're smart and you're gonna do things. Don't let anyone or anything make you think differently. You start talking shit like that again and I'm gonna come knock some f***ing sense into your head, because that ain't you, Rogue."

"Okay," I said quietly, because in that dangerous tone of his, it sounded a little bit like he might have meant 'knock some sense' literally.

"Secondly," he continued, just a little softer this time, "you're a very beautiful woman, and anyone who could confuse you for a man needs to get their head out of the books and into a pair of tits, because clearly they've forgotten what they look like."

I scrunched my nose. "That's... sweet, I guess."

"Thirdly," he went on, ignoring my comment, "You - " And then he cut himself off quickly, clearly redirecting. I heard him swallow, and then sigh resolutely. "If you want to fit in better, you can do that. You and Kitty are friends for a reason. You're good for each other. You're good at telling her that she's f***ing insane when she goes bat-shit crazy and bringing her back to earth."

"I'm a f***ing master at that."

He chuckled. "You are." He took a beat. "And maybe Kitty's good for helping you with, you know... the girl shit."

"... I already know how to put a tampon in, Remy."

"_Shopping_, Rogue," he filled in quickly. "She's good at shopping. And clothes, and hair, the whole shit-bag. She get's it. She looked real cute last time I saw her."

I scoffed. "You just liked the push-up."

"Yeah," he drawled, and I could just imagine the shit-eating grin on his face, "that was pretty nice."

I shook my head. "You are such a perv."

"Look," he said, "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with you, but if you want something different, you know all you have to do is ask. Kitty'd be jumping out of her ass to help you out. Not just because she likes all that shit, but because she likes _you_."

This is one of the things that has always drawn me in about Remy. He doesn't get a lot about a lot of things because of just, you know, who he is and where he's been. But what he does get, he _really_ gets. And as much as I'd like to deny it, one of the things he really gets, a lot of the time, is me.

"... okay," I finally responded after a moment.

"'_Okay_' as in _'I heard you'_ or '_Okay_' as in _'I'm going to ask Kitty for help'_?"

"I'll talk to Kitty."

"Really? Because we both know that your track record of asking for help is really shitty - "

" - I'll _ask_, okay?!" I rolled my eyes, switching the phone again because my arm was seriously going dead. "Geeze, you can check up on me when you get back if you're so f***ing worried."

He chuckled. "I will, thank you."

"Okay, so" I began, glancing over at my bedside clock, "I've been bitching at you about my problems for entirely too long now. I'm starting to annoy even myself. Let's talk about you now."

"I'm thinking about getting my ear pierced."

I choked a little on my own saliva. "You are not," I sputtered out between chuckles.

"Shut up, it's not that bad."

"No," I corrected, "it_ is_ that bad. Why the hell would you want to get your ear pierced?"

"All the men in my family have their ear pierced."

"Yeah, George Michael does too. I don't see that being a great argument for it either."

He scoffed. "I think I can pull it off."

"How is that a viable reason for hanging dangly jewelry from your body... the fact that you could do something really cheesy and still look reasonably okay? Are you becoming a pirate now?"

"Whatever, I'm gonna do it, and it'll look good. You're gonna think it's hot."

"I told you, Remy, I'm not a lesbian."

"You're f***ing hilarious, you know that?"

"Okay, so," I chuckled, "when are you gonna d - "

And then I was cut off. By a voice, coming from the background on Remy's end of the line. A _female_ voice.

_"Hey Rems, the Chinese food is here."_

As I listened to Remy pull away to tell The Voice that he'd be a minute and to start without him, my heart sank. All I could think was, _'I am such a f***ing idiot'_.

Of _course_ he was with a girl. I should have realized. It's Friday night, he's single, and, you know, he's _Remy_. And here I am, like some clueless loser, calling him up for an emotional pep talk while some bimbo is sitting around waiting for him to get off the damn phone. I wanted to die. I never should have called. Damn impulse control problem.

"Sorry about that," he said as he came back to the phone, "it was - "

"No, it's, you know, it's fine," I stammered, because I seriously hadn't been that f***ing embarrassed in a long, long time. "You're busy, and I've been taking up your time. I shouldn't have called, I'm sorry, I'll just - "

"_Rogue_," he said forcefully, stopping my ramblings once again. He's kind of good at that. "It's not what you think. She's just... we're working together. It was a two-man job. It's just business."

"Oh."

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just some bimbo.

And then, after a moment, the realization hit me. "...oh." I closed my eyes, swallowing. "Um... it's that Black Cat girl, isn't it?"

He was quiet for a second before answering.

"...yeah."

Unwittingly, my heart kind of sank into my stomach, and my throat got a little tight. I know it shouldn't mean anything, but this is someone he's been out with before. This isn't just some nameless passing skank-ship in the night. Even if it _is_ just business, it just feels... different. It feels less like _'Remy being Remy'_ and more like _'Remy moving on'_, and I don't like it.

It hurt. Even if that wasn't really what he was doing and even if he had every right to do so if it was, it hurt. Even after all the shit I've been through being with him. I guess I'm just not as at peace with the fact that we're not a 'we' anymore as I'd like to be.

"It's really nothing, Rogue," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "I don't - I don't mix business and pleasure. Well, not _during_ the business. I guess."

"Yeah," I nodded, willing my voice to sound normal and okay, "I get it. Don't shit where you eat, all that jazz."

"There's really nothing going on," he insisted. "It's just work."

"Okay."

"We're not even sharing a room together," he continued. "I mean, we have a connecting door, but that's it - "

"Remy, _stop_." It was my turn to cut him off. "Really, it's... it's okay."

"...okay."

I swallowed. "I mean... you said it before. We're not together now, you know? And you were right. I don't get to have a say in what you do or who you spend your time with." I breathed out. "I... I get it. You're not mine anymore. And you shouldn't have to feel like you've gotta answer to me. I get that, I do."

There was a quiet moment, and as I lay there, I willed myself to feel as confident about all that as I sounded.

I heard him sigh. "Aw f***, Chere," he began softly, "you know... even if we ain't a thing anymore... I'm always gonna be yours."

I smiled a little, because even if it sort of sounded like another one of his cheesy lines, deep down I kind of knew that it's true.

"Even when you're off sleeping with half the county?" I teased playfully.

He laughed. "Yeah, even then."

"Okay then, so, just out of curiosity, does that mean that you're thinking about me while you're boinking all these other ladies? Because I'm not really sure how I feel about that..."

"Oh no," he responded with mock seriousness. "Of course not. That's just rude. That'd be like, I don't know, thinking about your Danger Room scores when someone is telling you a hilarious story about when their cousin swerved around a plastic bag in the road because he thought it might be filled with baby bunnies."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Holy hell, that happened o_ne_ time!"

"That story was epic."

"That story was _stupid_."

"How do you know?" he questioned. "You weren't even listening."

"Okay," I chuckled, "so you _don't_ think about me during sex."

"No. You have my heart, Chere, but my mind - and pretty much all my body parts - go to the lady of the moment."

"Well, that seems reasonable."

"I thought so."

The bedroom door creaked, and I looked up, mouthing a silent 'hey' as Kitty walked in quietly. "Okay, so," I said into the phone, "it's late, and Kitty's back from her 'date' now..."

"Rec room with Pete again?"

I snort laughed. "Yeah, good guess." She gave me a weird look as she made her way into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Remy scoffed. "They're getting really predictable."

"They are," I agreed. "Anyway, I should probably go. I gotta tell Kitty that I tried out Pinterest tonight, and it's f***ing stupid." I glanced over and saw my roommate through the doorway glaring at me silently in the bathroom mirror.

"I love Pinterest."

"I - Wait, what?" I turned away from Kitty, holding the phone closer to my ear. "You're f***ing with me."

"I'm not. It's a great site."

"Pinterest is for girls!" I laughed. "What the hell would you want with Pinterest?"

"There are guy things on there too," he pointed out. "Cars, clothes, pictures of half-naked chicks."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this..." I chuckled.

"It's an easy way to keep track of shit I want to buy."

"Yeah, but it's just pictures," I countered. "There's no f***ing point. I mean, even if you find something you like, there's no link to show you where to buy it or how to make it or whatever."

"... You just click on the picture, Rogue. Are you f***ing serious?"

My jaw flopped open. "Wait... the _picture_ is the link?!" Kitty rolled her eyes at me, toothbrush in her mouth.

"Of course it is," Remy answered. "There'd be no point without a link."

"That's what I said! How'd you know about the picture thing?"

"It's not a big leap, Chere."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

"Have Kitty to show you how to do it," he offered, "you know, after you ask her to take you shopping."

I groaned. "Yes, thank you for that _oh so_ subtle reminder..."

"Okay, girl," he chuckled lightly, "You gotta let me go. I have food waiting for me, and then I need to get my beauty sleep."

"I thought you were watching Sportscenter?"

"I _was_," he corrected, "but then this girl called me up, bitching about _all_ her problems, yack yack yack..."

I grinned wryly. "You're just so f***ing cute, you know that?"

"I'll call you tomorrow when I get back in town."

"'Kay. G'night."

As I set my cellphone back down on my bedside table, Kitty came out of the bathroom, all minty fresh. She gave me a weird side-eyed glance as she grabbed her pajamas out of the dresser. "So..." she started casually, "who was that?"

"Just Remy," I shrugged.

"Huh. Well, you sure sounded... chummy."

"And how am I supposed to sound with him?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know... short and sarcastic?"

"I'm always short and sarcastic."

"Yeah, but I've never heard you act _chummy_ with Remy. You're either at each others throats or you're... Well... at each others throats." She laughed at her own entendre. "Like, literally. You know, necking."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I got that." I don't know why Kitty thinks she has to explain her stupid jokes.

She shrugged. "This just seemed a little... gooey for you."

I just shook my head, getting up to go brush my teeth. Because I seriously just realized that I'd never gotten around to that one yet, with all my Pinterest searching and all. "There's nothing going on, Kitty. We just talked."

"You look all starry-eyed."

"I'm not starry-eyed."

"And you had that dopey smile on your face."

"My smile was not dopey!" I glared back at her through the open doorway.

She looked like she wanted to argue with me, but after a second she let out a breath and shook her head, "Alright," she relented after a moment, "I'm just sayin'..."

I rolled my eyes. "Geeze, Kitty, I didn't realize it was any of your business..."

"It's not my business," she countered from somewhere behind me. "And just for the record, I have not been meddling. I haven't meddled once. I'm totally Team Rogue here. I mean, I love Remy and all, but I wouldn't want to be dating a guy who's dealing with some serious daddy issues either. You're doing the right thing."

"I know that, Kitty."

"Stay strong, sister."

"... Yeah, okay."

"So what did you guys talk about?" She asked, successfully steering the conversation away from my uncomfortable relationship with Remy.

I shrugged, wiping the toothpaste off my mouth with the back of my sleeve as I came out of the bathroom. "I don't know... school, and stuff." I swallowed, remembering Remy's advice and deciding that it was probably best to just cowboy up and get it over with. "And I was kind of thinking," I started tentatively, "that, I don't know, maybe, you were sort of... right, _ish_... about, you know, my whole look. And first impressions and all that shit. And that maybe you might want to take me shopping." I spit out that last part pretty damn fast. Like taking off a bandaid.

I glanced up, and surprisingly, instead of jumping up and down like I expected her to be, Kitty was giving me an understanding nod.

"Well, it's funny that you should mention shopping..." she trailed off.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" She held her hands up in defense. "Why would you automatically assume I did something bad? I was just planning on going shopping tomorrow morning."

"Oh."

"...with Emma."

"_What?! _Why the hell did you call _her_?"

Kitty put a hand on her tiny hip. "Because frankly, I need a little help in that department, too. And who's gonna help _me_, Rogue? You?" She rolled her eyes.

It might have been insulting if it wasn't so damn true.

"What are you talking about?" I questioned. "I didn't think you had any issues in the 'what to wear' department."

Kitty scoffed. "Well maybe if you pulled your head out of your sweatpants, you'd see that I'm totally floundering out there. _Totally_." She flopped down on her bed dramatically. "The push-up bra works wonders, don't get me wrong, but now everyone thinks I'm kind of a slut. I've had two douche-bags and a junkie hit on me in one week. That has to be a record." She paused. "Don't tell Pete... you know how he gets."

I groaned. "Okay, fine. But... _Emma_? Really?"

"Need I remind you of the magic she worked on your date with Warren?" she pointed out. "It was literally magic. The woman knows what she's talking about. Do you want to look good or not? Maybe we should just go ask Jean if you can borrow one of her pastel polo shirts..."

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," I groaned, slipping into my bed. "I'll try to find a way to put up with Emma..."

"Good."

I reached out and turned off my bedside lamp. It was quiet for a few minutes before Kitty suddenly did a little happy squeak in the dark.

"Ooooh! We can go to Sephora! I can totally get you all the necessities to look like a heterosexual female. You'll be a damn sexy heterosexual female once I'm finished with you..."

See, this is what happens when you can't control your impulses. You call up ex-boyfriends in the middle of the night and end up being roped into spending a day in an overcrowded shopping center with a high-class hooker and a pocket-sized Katy Perry for personal stylists. Seriously, people, it happens every time.


	10. Kitty's Corner

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as **'KINETICALLY CHARMED'**. (Note from Lizzieturbo: GUEST AUTHOR! No, your eyes do not deceive you... she's baaaaaaaaack! Yes, I'm excited about this one. Can you tell?)

**Entry number ten**

It has recently come to my attention that Rogue clearly needs some assistance with this blog. I mean, you can call this meddling if you want to, but it totally isn't. It's just that we went on our shopping trip two days ago, and she hasn't even had the courtesy to fill you good people in on our escapades.

I'm willing to bet it's because she just generally doesn't care. I don't really see her as a "Let's talk about our super awesome shopping trip, yay!" kind of girl. So I'm sitting here in my _Mouse Clicking 101 _class -Rogue thinks she's just soooo effing hilarious- playing Solitaire because I've had the assignment finished for a good fifteen minutes already, and a thought occurs to me.

Instead of waiting for ROGUE to update you all on the shopping 'capades, I could totally do it!

So I hacked into her account.

Technically, I just know her password. She uses the same one for everything. I'd tell you on here, but that would make her _super_ mad, so let's just say it has something to do with her, and what she'd like to do to a certain rock star who appears on _The Voice_, and whose name rhymes with Madam Ravine.

I don't care what she says, she has got a serious creepy crush on that man. Whenever she sees him she fans herself off and starts talking old south style like she's Scarlett O'Hara. It actually got to the point that Remy was a little bit jealous. When they were together obviously, now he's just irritated by it. But you know that it has to be seriously creepy when Remy can't distinguish the line between fantasy and reality. I mean, come on. Rogue is never going to meet Madam Ravine. We all know this. And even if she did, it's not like he'd drop his pants for her right then and there.

Sorry, Rogue. It's not going to happen. Even though you insist you could charm the pants off of him. It just won't.

Before I begin, to any pseudo authority figures out there reading this who has a name rhyming with "Bullvorine", I would just like to clarify that this does not count as blogging. I do not have a blog. This is not my blog. If you have a bone to pick, pick it with Rogue.

We got to the mall early and waited for Emma at our designated meeting place. The kiddie ride section.

Don't even give me that look, everyone loves the kiddie rides. Plus they have the claw game there, and I'm seriously determined to win something from that stupid game. They have a little seal with a pink bow... I really want that seal.

So yes, I may have fibbed a bit to Rogue and told her that our meeting time was 10 when it was actually closer to 10:30, but there's no way I would have any seal catching time if we'd arrived at 10:30.

I didn't get the stupid thing anyways.

And all the dads kept feeding the machines so they could look down my top while I was playing. What can I say, I'm friggin' hot.

At least until Emma strolled up in her white pencil cut leather pants, and her white cowl neck silk shirt, which was so low cut that it showed off she was most definitely_ not_ wearing a bra. She kind of stole my thunder.

It's been almost seven months since she left, and I haven't seen her since then thanks to Scott's paranoia. But even having said that, I was pretty shocked by how genuinely excited I was to see her. Of course I tried to play it all cool, casually giving her a,

"Hey how's it goin'?"

She responded with a knowing grin, clearly having read the excitement in my mind in spite of my chill attitude. She looked past me and gave Rogue a once over.

"I can see why you called me for help. You should have called sooner."

"Christ, I can't do this." Rogue shook her head, "It's not worth it. I'd rather look like a man than-"

"Oh calm down, butch." Emma sighed, "I can appreciate when someone willingly requests assistance in an area where they are so clearly lacking. I'll do my best to peel back the greasy layers to pretty you up."

Rogue clenched her jaw and starred daggers at Emma, silently accepting her help. Because frankly, Rogue really didn't want to look like a man. Come on. Emma totally called her bluff.

"What about you?" Emma asked, turning her blue eyes my way, "You asked for help also." She looked me over and gave a shrug, "You seem to be put together well enough."

I let out a sigh and shook my head, "I know, I think the problem is that I'm put together _too_ well."

Rogue snorted and I saw her roll her eyes.

"I'm totally serious! Everyone seems to think that I'm the type of gal who slept my way into Columbia. Just because I'm not some creepy virgin who sits alone in my room playing various role playing computer games online like the rest of the computer science majors, does_ not_ make me a slut." I crossed my arms over my push-up enhanced chest and frowned. "Everybody is just totally jealous of how hot I am."

Emma glanced down to my tight, low cut shirt that totally showed off my new found assets and raised an eyebrow, "I think I may have discovered the source of the problem."

I put a hand on my hip and raised an eyebrow, "And what is _that_ supposed to mean? I look _hot_."

"Of course you do, and I'm all for drawing attention to ones womanly assets. But you tend to get a tad carried away. You don't deal well with over confidence." She dropped her eyes to my chest again and silently assessed the situation, "Perhaps we should switch to at least a slightly lower level of push-up."

I scoffed and shook my head, "Whatever. You're obviously just jealous too." Emma raised an eyebrow at me as I slowly processed the moronic statement I had just made. "Yeah, I see your point."

Geeze. I go from crazy leather pants Kitty to crazy big boobs Kitty. It's kind of scary how quickly I'm able to slip in and out of sanity...

So, obviously we decided to start with underwear. Since apparently, I needed a boob make-under.

We were sifting through the racks in Victoria's Secret, with Rogue grumbling the whole time about how she doesn't feel comfortable bra shopping with company, and I was basically veto-ing every single bra Emma picked out for me. Eventually she held up what I _think_ was a bra. But for the price that was dangling off of its sheer fabric, I was seriously wondering where the rest of it was. And also wondering exactly how effective it could actually be as a bra.

"How about this one?" Emma informed me with a cheeky little grin. "Not as much lift."

Rogue glanced up and let out a strangled laugh as she continued sorting.

"That's totally not practical." I rolled my eyes looking back at the rack in front of me. "There is no way I could wear that under my clothes all day long."

"It's not meant to be_ practical_ Kitty." Emma replied with a patronizing tone, "It's meant for fun."

"... I knew that."

Rogue looked at Emma with a grin, "I don't think she's been having much _fun._" She looked at me with the same stupid grin, "The pancakes have been a little dry lately."

I furrowed my brow, "As if! My pancakes are perfectly... moist." I grimaced because that totally came out weird and wrong. "There is nothing wrong in the pancake area, thank you very much."

Emma remained silent as she hung the sheer bra back up, with a slight smile of doubt, "Of course there's not."

"Sure, Pete's been acting a little weird lately. But I just figure it's because of the push-up bra." I shrugged, frowning down at the drawer of colorful bras. "I mean, look at these puppies." I gestured to my boobs, "They're pretty intimidating."

Rogue shook her head smugly, "No way, this pancake issue started way before that bra entered our lives."

"There is no pancake issue." I replied defensively, "If anyone has pancake issues it's you. You're pancake frustrated and you're taking it out on me."

"I am not _pancake frustrated_." Rogue scowled at me, "I just think that it's obvious you've been hyper focused on school, and completely neglecting your relationship."

"Relationship advice? Really, Rogue?" I snatched the nearest t-shirt bra in my size out of the drawer and turned to Emma. "I'll wait for you two in the mall."

So the truth is, Rogue and I have been sort of getting on one another's nerves. I mean, it's a long drive to and from school every day. You can kind of understand how this would happen, bestie or not. And it's not like it's a huge deal, just sometimes, I can feel the budding urge to reach out and punch her in the boob. That's when I know it's best to have some quiet time.

Just for the record, I wasn't mad about Rogue's topic of annoyance either. Things are totally fine in pancake land.

Anyways, by the time the two had finished bra shopping, the boob punching urge had passed and I was back to normal.

"I have to say, I'm actually slightly impressed with Rogue's taste in undergarments. Judging from the outer layer, I'd have thought we'd be dealing with Walmart discount bras." Emma commented as we made our way towards our next destination, "But she actually knew her way around that place."

"If you've got something worth supporting, it's worth paying the money." Rogue replied, probably choosing to ignore the _outer layer_ comment. "Or, I guess in Kitty's case, if you haven't got anything, it's worth paying the money to make it look like you have."

Urge to boob punch rising.

We arrived at the horribly over priced jean specialty store that Emma swore by and I frowned, "I don't know, Emma... this place is super expensive."

"Yes, but you get what you pay for."

"A butt lift?" Rogue raised an eyebrow as she looked at a price tag on a pair of jeans near the entrance, "Because that's about what I'd expect to pay for a butt lift."

"Plus, then the effects are permanent." I nodded along in agreement with Rogue.

"Until you shoot out a kid at least." Rogue chuckled, "Just ask Jean. I bet she won't be squeezing into any skinny designer jeans any time soon."

Emma's demeanor turned a little bit frosty- pardon the pun- and she turned her attention to the plethora of jeans, "Where would you prefer to shop for jeans, _The Gap_?" She cut her eyes to Rogue, "Do you want to look hot or not? Because I'm not going to waste my time if you're just out here bargain hunting for a new _Metallica_ t-shirt."

Rogue knit her brow and placed a hand on her hip, "First of all, I don't even like_ Metallica_ that much."

Nice starting argument there Rogue.

"Secondly, I don't see the point in spending a small fortune on a pair of pants, and I definitely don't see how this will help determine how _hot_ I am."

Emma gave Rogue one of her trademark patronizing smiles and handed her a pair of slightly reasonably priced jeans, "That's why I'm here to help."

Rogue narrowed her eyes and snatched the jeans away from Emma, glaring down at them as if Emma may have possibly set some type of trap on them.

"Go try them on. I'll explain once you're in the jeans." She instructed.

Rogue, who does not deal well with taking instructions from_ anyone_ pouted her way to the dressing room, while I loaded up on the least expensive jeans in the store to try on for myself.

I'm no dummy. I know you get what you pay for with jeans, okay? You want a tight looking ass, you don't buy your jeans at_ Old Navy_. That being said, I have school to pay for, and I have to weigh out the pros and cons of having a hot ass. And since I had a lifetime ban on Forever 21 after the last time I went shopping for jeans, I was kind of going through hot ass withdrawal. I needed some new hot ass jeans.

So sue me.

Also, I was still wearing the push-up bra at the time, which as we've already discussed, seems to have some type of negative over confidence effect on me. Leading me to take probably a few more pairs of jeans into the change room than necessary.

After I'd literally tried on all the jeans I'd picked out, _and_ decided which ones I was going to take home, _and_ gone to actually pay for the things, Rogue finally came out of the change room wearing her hot ass jeans.

"Did you forget how to put them on?" Emma asked with an impatient smile.

Rogue ignored her completely and walked over to the big triple mirror with a shrug, "Alright, what's so magical about these dumb things?"

Emma put a fist on her hip and tipped her head to the side, looking at Rogue through the mirror. "Turn around."

Rogue rolled her eyes, but did as she was told, like a bratty 15 year old with her shoulders slumped and everything. She let out a sigh and looked back over her shoulder at the reflection of her derriere in the mirror. And her eyes went wide.

"Holy (eff) is that my ass?!" Rogue gasped, putting a hand on her behind just to make sure this illusion wasn't all smoke and mirrors.

"Abracadabra!" I exclaimed with a stupid grin. Because let's admit it guys, I pretty much act like a ten year old with boobs.

Emma glanced at me through the corner of her eye quickly before looking back at Rogue, "Shocking isn't it?"

Rogue looked back up at Emma and shook her head, "Look at my ass!"

"I know," Emma nodded with a smirk, "It looks much less... wide."

"Damn!" Rogue shook her head as she stared at her butt from over her shoulder, "I wouldn't kick me out of bed..."

"The magic is mostly in the pockets. Your former, discount jeans, all have similarly underwhelming pocket areas, which tend to make the rear end look wide. Smaller pockets with a little bit of detail always make things seem a lot more perky than they really are."

Rogue simply rolled her eyes and then went back to her ass.

Emma is basically queen of the backhanded compliment. She's even better than Illyana.

After spending another 20 minutes watching Rogue admire herself in the mirror, she finally bought an armful of hot ass jeans.

I mean, literally an armful. Like, nobody would ever need that many jeans at one time, ever. But the plus side is, she can go a good month without doing any jeans in the laundry, so I guess that works.

Next up was shirt shopping, where Emma made it clear to Rogue that graphic t-shirts are not sexy. She didn't beat around the bush either. She flat out said "your breasts should say nothing literally" which I suppose is a good rule of thumb. You want eff me boobs, but you don't want boobs that literally say "eff me", that's just trashy.

That being said, I still refuse to throw out my Juicy sweat pants. Because I totally rock those things. Besides, if I _don't_ wear them, people will not know my ass is juicy.

Unless I'm in my hot ass jeans of course.

As we sat down in the food court- Rogue and I with our delectable soft pretzels, and Emma with her _Evian_ water- Rogue let out a rather long, dramatic sigh. She dropped her garbage bag sized bag of jeans down along with her bag of newly purchased shirts and sweaters and gave her head a resolute shake, "I just don't think it would have been the end of the world if I'd bought that **one** _Pink Floyd_ tee. It was on sale."

Emma looked up from her water and raised an eyebrow, "Do you really want to have attention drawn to your chest because of_ Pink Floyd_?"

"Not to mention the fact that the prism symbol would be totally distorted by your boobs and would no longer be scientifically factual..." I added absently as I dug into my pretzel.

Apparently my argument wasn't as valid as Emma's, because Rogue shot me a her _you're an idiot, Kitty_, look.

"I just think that if you want people looking at your breasts, you should draw their attention the old fashioned way." Emma inclined her head towards me, "Like Kitty."

I grinned and arched my back a little with a nod. "Totally!"

Emma looked back to Rogue, "Perhaps a little bit less desperately..."

Burn.

"Alright, fine." Rogue grumbled, ripping her soft pretzel apart and stuffing a portion of it into her mouth, "It was a nice colour at least."

I gave her a sidelong glance, "It was black."

"And I _like_ black."

"You'll like the shirts you purchased much better once you've tried them out with your new jeans and made some heads turn. Trust me." Emma said, taking a dainty sip of water through her straw, "That bright purple jewel tone honestly makes your eyes shine."

Rogue responded with an unintelligible mumble as she pulled her phone out of her back pocket, giving it a quick scan as if no one noticed.

"That one red v-neck you bought makes your boobs look way better than _Pink Floyd_." I added. "And it makes you look like five pounds slimmer."

She glared down at her phone, placing it next to her on the table with slightly more force than necessary, "I don't _need_ to look five pounds slimmer." She snapped.

"Oh for crying out loud." Emma rolled her eyes irritably, "Would you please give it a rest already?"

"What!?" Rogue asked defensively, "I don't!"

"I'm not talking about the shirt, I'm talking about your phone, and your constant irritating, repetitive, clingy thoughts."

Rogue narrowed her eyes and leaned across the table slightly towards Emma, "Stay _out_ of my head."

"Trust me, I would if I could. You're projecting so loudly it's not a wonder _Kitty_ can't read your mind." Emma pursed her lips, "You have _got_ to get over him."

"I am!" Rogue said in a high pitched squeaky sounding voice. I looked over at her and knit my brow,

"Okay, I'm totally lost. What are you two talking about?"

"She's spent the entire day checking her phone, dwelling on the fact that Remy has yet to text her." Emma filled me in with that look of boredom she does so well, "Evidently he promised he would at some point-"

"He told me he'd text me when he got back." Rogue snapped quickly, "I'm not dwelling on it, I'm just pissed that he hasn't texted me yet. That's all."

"Oh brother." I grumbled as I set my pretzel back down on the paper plate, "I'm going to have to agree with Emma on this one. I don't like your murky relationship status, either your dating or your not. There is no relationship limbo. Stop tap dancing around the subject and move on."

"Relationship advice, Kitty? Really?" Rogue bit out sarcastically, mocking my earlier comments to her like the total bitch she is.

"Uhh yeah." I narrowed my eyes at her, "Just because Pete and I don't do it like horny bunny rabbits doesn't mean everything isn't peachy. We actually have lives, you know. Lives that don't revolve around sex."

"That sounds like a very boring life." Emma smiled wryly.

"Besides, at least I _have_ a relationship." I grumbled as I went back to enjoying my pretzel. "Even if you think it's boring. At least it's _existent_."

For the record, my relationship is not boring. Like I said, Pete and I are no longer in the gooey honeymoon phase. Not to mention the fact that we live together. Not in the traditional relationship sense, but we see each other basically all the time. That doesn't mean we're in a rut, it doesn't mean we're _boring_, it just means that we're comfortable. And there is nothing wrong with being comfortable in a secure, loving relationship. And Rogue would _know_ this, if she'd ever been in one.

Burn.

Besides, we've both been super busy. Me, with school, and Pete's been spending a lot of his free time at this art studio downtown. Which I totally support by the way. I'm happy that he's mingling with other artistic brains, because lord knows I couldn't keep up in a conversation about like... paint strokes and stuff. And obviously, once I start settling into the routine of school, and hopefully stop being mistaken for a high end hooker, things will totally go back to normal.

"I'm going to have to agree with Kitty." Emma reluctantly admitted, "You need to move on. You're going to have a sexy new wardrobe when I'm finished and I refuse to let it go to waste on the simple mind of Remy Lebeau."

If Remy ever starts a blog, that is totally the name. I have declared it. It shall be so.

"You guys are making a mountain out of a mole hill here." Rogue frowned, picking at her pretzel, "We're just friends. And as a friend, I expect him to text me when he says he will. That's it."

Emma took a sip of water before letting out a breath,"You need to find a new man. This new wardrobe of yours will definitely turn heads, but if we really want to complete the package, we'll need to stop at _Sephora_."

"The makeup store." Rogue's face fell. "I don't _want_ to mess with makeup. I get up too damn early in the morning to care."

"If you go with the minimum, it'll take you ten minutes, tops." Emma frowned, "I think you can spare ten minutes of sleep if you factor in that looking good will likely get you laid."

Rogue thought for a moment before narrowing her eyes, "Ten minutes? You promise?"

Emma gave her a wordless smile and went back to sipping on her straw, knowing very well that her argument had won Rogue over.

After our pretzel break, we went to_ Sephora_. And I basically was like a kid in a candy store. I'm not gunna lie. That place gets me over stimulated. I don't even know how to apply half the products in the store, but just being there and trying the samples out and _pretending_ like I know what the hell I'm doing, is enough to make me hyperventilate a little. So while I was running around like a ten year old with boobs, Emma sat Rogue down and taught her the basics.

She left the store with reasonably priced foundation, over priced concealer, ridiculously over priced mascara, the cheapest brand of blush she could find in the store, kohl eyeliner which happened to be on sale, an eyeshadow pallet which Emma promised would be worth the money since it lasts so long, and a brush kit which Rogue reluctantly went along with.

I left the store with a hand covered in makeup smears, and a finishing spray. I have no idea what this finishing spray is really supposed to do, but it was like $30 so it_ has_ to work.

The last step -pun slightly intended- should have been easy. Rogue needed new shoes. Rogue didn't think she needed new shoes of course, but Emma insisted that Rogue needed new shoes. I mean, I see her point. You can't wear hot ass jeans with _Doc Martens_. This isn't the 90's. It's not acceptable to wear a crop top and overalls anymore either, so the _Doc Martens_ must go.

But of course, Rogue hemmed and hawed over every pair of shoes she tried on. She didn't want heels, she didn't want flats, she doesn't like the colour of these, she doesn't like the style of those, she wants laces, she wants slip-ons, and so on and so forth.

We finally convinced her to get a pair of ankle boots, and a pair of _Chucks_, although I'm not entirely sure how much usage the ankle boots will get. As we were on our way out with our arms filled with goodies, Rogue suddenly stopped. She furrowed her brow thoughtfully and tipped her head to the side.

"I kind of like those."

I followed her line of sight to the window display and began shaking my head furiously, "No. No Rogue... no..."

"What?" She shrugged, "They're simple, but nice."

"They look like slippers!"

"What's the big deal? They're all trendy right now and crap, I thought you of all people would like them." Rogue shrugged as she walked towards the display, "Besides, for every pair you buy, a pair goes to a child in Africa. It's like charity work."

"It's like _douchebag_ charity work." I tried to plead my case, "_TOMS_ Rogue. Alex wears _TOMS_. You cannot buy _TOMS_... Emma, back me up."

Emma shrugged, "I don't know, they seem fine to me. Not for me personally, but they're trendy enough. And they're not _Doc Martens_..."

"Yeah, but they're_ TOMS_. _**TOMS**_!" I threw a hand up in the air, "What's next, are we going to start making poor kids in Africa wear _Crocs_ too? And _Uggs_? You want a bunch of little African kids running around in _Uggs_ and _Crocs_? Really, when you think about it, it's just cruel."

Apparently my argument wasn't good enough because Rogue gave me another_ you're a moron Kitty_, look before heading into the store to purchase her ugly _TOMS,_ and 'make her donation to the children of Africa'.

I bet if we asked those kids in Africa, they probably would agree with me. Why can't we send them some _Nike's_ or something instead?

Ugly footwear aside, it was a pretty good day for Rogue in the fashion department. And realistically, people will be too enthralled by her boobs and hot ass to really notice her feet all that much anyways.

I mean, she looks pretty hot. Not like, super hot or anything. She looks normal person hot. For Rogue. Compared to me she looks okay...

Wow, I just realized I'm still wearing the push-up. It really does have a leather effect on me.

I should probably go take it off before I start trying to show it off to random people in the street or something.

You know what would be even worse? A leather push-up bra.

Yikes.

Oh, and this is just between us. Rogue doesn't check her past blog entries, so chances are she won't know she's been hacked. So if she starts to tell you about her shopping adventures and her hot ass and ugly feet, act surprised, okay?


	11. Labor (part 1)

The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'Lizzieturbo'.

(Side note: I know I've been sucking it up on review replies, but please please PLEASE still review! I love them, I need them, I cry myself to sleep a little without them. And honestly, nothing gets my fingers a-typing faster than a big ol' buttload of reviews. And heaven knows my fingers could be faster... am I right?)

**Entry number 11**

The first thing you need to know is that Jean and Scott are insane.

Actually, scratch that. This is _my_ damn blog. The first thing you need to know is that, with my new fancy-shmancy wardrobe, I am now f***ing _hot_. I don't even mind saying it: that colorless whore knows what she's talking about. Seriously, my ass is ass-_tastic_. The college experience is a lot better now. Since the White Witch worked her magic, I haven't been side-eyed or called a man once, not _once_. I know that's a sad victory, but I'm taking it, damn it. And a day at the mall with Kitty and Emma wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, it wasn't enjoyable or anything, and I still had the urge to just reach out and slap that bleached-blonde bitch every time I looked at her stupid face... but I resisted. I kept it in check. Basically the whole shopping trip was pretty event-less - if you don't count the fact that we practically had to tranquilize Kitty to get her out of Sephora. I swear, that girl is basically just a 10 year old with boobs. Anyways, the point is, there's not much to tell except for the fact that we went, we shopped, we all left the mall alive and with all our limbs, and now I'm a friggin' Dime. Holla. No need to waste a blog entry on _that_ shit.

The _second_ thing you need to know is that Jean and Scott are insane.

The third thing you should probably know is that Jean is in labor. She's been in labor for like five days. I'm not shitting you. Apparently this is something that can happen. The contractions started Sunday morning, so after a few hours of walking around moaning and checking their watches, the golden couple headed down to the hospital, only to be sent home an hour later. I guess they didn't see the head, or something. Honestly, I don't really know how the whole child-birth thing works. Nor do I want to. I mean, I paid attention in Health class during the "how to have sex" part, and the "how not to make a baby when having sex" part, but when they got to the "how to birth a human" part, I sort of just closed my eyes, zoned out, and thought about England. Shootin' a kid out my lady parts isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list at this point in my life, and I figure if I do ever get to a place where either a) I want to be a parent or b) Remy forgets to use a condom, a good mix of surprise and denial is probably in my best interest.

Not that I'm assuming that I'm going to have a kid with Remy. It's just, if I _did_ happen to get knocked up by some dipshit who forgot to suit up, odds are it would be him. You know I'm right.

Anyway, long story short, Jean has now been boomeranged from the Bayville General a record four times. And the contractions are still going. I don't really blame her for being certifiable. My uterus hurts for her. Scott, however, is just driving us all bananas. I don't know, maybe we should all be a little more sympathetic - it's probably pretty stressful for him too, and it's not like he's gotten a whole lot of sleep the past few nights. On the other hand, he and his over ambitious swimmers were the ones who created this mess, all while he was simultaneously mind-boffing a _different_ telepath (geeze, have a type much?), so screw him. Go Team Jean.

I don't know why, but I'm in a bit of a girl power mood lately. Time to break out the Sailor Moon and blast me some Spice Girls.

So, after Kitty and I got back from Columbia for the day, somehow we all found ourselves piled together in the rec room watching _A Baby Story_ with Jean. For moral support, or some shit. Illyana was in the corner learning English from magazines with Tabby and Jubes teaching her the dirty words. Amara was off to the side eating a box of smarties while Logan sat in his barcalounger browsing through the underwear section of the Sear's catalog. Kurt, Kitty, Pete, and Scott were all trying to time Jean's contractions using different cellphone apps, arguing about which one was getting the better stats. Jamie sat right in front of the TV, like one of those puppies on 101 Dalmatians hoping they'd forget to blur out a nipple during one of the show's labor scenes, while Ray and Bobby looked at boobs in the _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ book...

It's been an odd few days.

"I think we need to decide on a guardian," Jean announced suddenly in the middle of a commercial break.

Scott glanced up from his iPhone. "A guardian...?"

"For the baby," Jean continued. "In case something were to happen to us. We both have dangerous occupations, I think it would be the sensible thing to do to make sure she's taken care of should the unthinkable happen."

"I - " Scott stumbled, putting his phone down. "I mean, you want to talk about this _now_?"

"We need to talk about it sometime, it might as well be now. Because it's not like I'm having a baby. Do I look like I'm having a baby,_ Scott_?"

"No," he answered as quickly as humanly possible. Seriously, I don't think Jean is in the mood to be messed with. And Scott ain't stupid.

"Of course, there's no one in the world I'd trust more with my child than the Professor," Jean began, "but let's be realistic. He's getting on in years as it is, and in 10 years, is he really going to be physically capable of taking care of a preteen? Not to mention the fact that he's in a wheelchair."

"That's racist," Bobby pointed out from across the room.

"You're an idiot, Bobby," Jean snapped. She turned back to Scott. "We can cross him off the list, too."

Seriously, I'm kind of in love with Contracting Jean. She's super fun.

"What list?" Alex asked as he walked back into the room with Jean's refilled water glass in hand. "Oh hey, bitchen," he said, looking at the TV when she didn't answer due to the onset of yet another contraction, "is that bunny having her kid in a hot tub? That is one choice way to come into the world, brah."

"Water birth?" Kitty commented, her eyes darting back and forth between a clenching Jean and her app as she timed, "that is so gross."

"Nah Jem, it's natural!" Alex set the glass down on the side table and plopped down next to his still-cringing sister-in-law. "Like being one with the land. This one time, I had a few too many at this party out at Laniakea. Passed out on the beach and woke up with the tide... it was like a spiritual experience."

"I don't want to be sitting a tub of filth. Literally. Bodily fluids floating around and crap?! That's not a magical way to bring a baby into the world, that's an episode of _I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant_."

"You stopped your timer too late, Katya," Pete pointed out. "That is why your times are off. You were not paying attention while you were talking."

Kitty narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm a computer science major, Pete. I can talk and press a button at the same time."

"I have seen you walk into a wall while in the middle of a conversation. You are easy to distract."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "That happened _one_ time. Geeze, you walk into _one wall_ and people never let it go..."

"You shouldn't be holding your breath, Jean," Pete said, turning to her. "I have birthed many cows on the farm back home. You need to be breathing with the contractions."

Jean narrowed her eyes at him. "You really want to be comparing me to your _cow_ right now, Stalin?"

"Guardians!" Scott announced, rubbing his temples tiredly with one hand. "Let's talk more about guardians. How about, um... Rogue?"

"Ha!" I responded. Seriously, that didn't even warrant me looking away from the TV. By the way, this show is disgusting.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Scott mumbled, "you were just the first person I saw. Okay, how about... Storm. She loves kids, she'd be great."

"She's claustrophobic," Jean responded, taking a sip from her water glass. "What if the baby fell down a well?!"

Scott just sort of sat there for a second. "... Okay. Um, well then, what about Logan. He'll be young and active forever and he has no problem with wells."

"You're not pawning your brat off on me, Summers," Logan called out from across the room. "If you're stupid enough to get yourself killed, the kid's gonna have to dance a pole and make her own way in the world."

"Logan!" Jean admonished.

He shrugged. "Sorry, Red. That's life. I'm not wiping your spawn's ass just cuz you two kick the bucket."

"Damn, Logan," I whistled. "Even_ I_ think that's a little off-sides. The kid hasn't even been born yet."

He grumbled. "It's all the damn hormones wafting off that one." He waved a hand lazily in Jean's direction. "They're making me irritated."

I rolled my eyes. "So, go ogle your granny panties up in your own room. No one's forcing you to be here."

He just grunted and turned back to his Sears catalog. Seriously, I didn't even know they mailed those things out still.

"Hold on a second...," Alex cut in, "we're talking about replacement parents here? That's a no brainer, brah! What better family is there for little Beyonce - "

" - Not what we're naming her - " Scott mumbled on top of him.

" - than family?" He grinned. "Cool Uncle Alex would take her in a heart beat. I love kids. They laugh at fart jokes and they're major babe magnets. You take a kid down to the playground, toss the ball around a little, maybe work some bubble action? You're gonna be coming home for a little Afternoon Delight, I guarantee it."

He just paused, and we all turned to stare at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, okay, never mind, I just heard it," he said. "I'd be terrible, take me out of the running."

"Is it sad that I like the same baby name as _Havok_?" Kitty asked. I gave her the look. "What? It's powerful. She'd be all about the ring and putting things in boxes to the left."

I swear, I could _hear_ Pete straining not to roll his eyes. _Beyonce Rasputin_. This is your future, Piotr. You'd better start embracing it.

"Oh, Kitty!" Jean announced happily. "I don't know why I didn't think of it first. Kitty would be perfect!"

"What?" Scott gaffed.

"Yeah, _what_?" Kitty added.

"Think about it," Jean explained. "She's young, she's fun, she's smart, kids love her, and let's face it, she's one of the most normally-functioning adults living here."

As one of the other '_adults living here_', I took a little offense at that last part. I'm not saying she was exactly _wrong_, but still. Bitch.

"I don't know, Jean."

"She's clearly our best choic - oh..." She cut off as she placed a hand on her stomach with another contraction.

"I'm not entrusting my child with Kitty Pryde, Jean," Scott said with an air of boredom as he timed on his phone. "She's simply too flighty."

"Hey!" Kitty objected. "You know, I'm sitting right here."

"No offense, Kitty, but it's the truth." He looked up. "Everyone knows you're not exactly the most grounded person on the team."

She crossed her arms hotly. "Yeah well, everyone knows that that salmon-colored shirt you love so much makes your skin tone look horrible and clashes with your glasses, but we don't talk about it when you're in the room."

"Do you _want_ to be our daughter's guardian?"

"Hell no! I mean, I literally _just_ started college. I'm not ready to be thinking about kids, and when I am ready, I'm going to be thinking about my _own_ kids, because you know I'd make effing adorable babies. But the point is, your daughter would be lucky to have me for a guardian. I'd be amazing. I'd guard her ass off."

Scott just rolled his eyes and ignored her. "Jean, you're consistently 2 minutes apart now."

"2.4!" Kurt called out.

"I really think we should go back to the hospital," he continued.

Jean sighed. "I told you already. I'm not going back just to be sent home again. If I'm going to the hospital, I'm having a damn baby. We can get in the car when you see her crowning."

"But the book says - "

" - the book said to go at 5-7 minutes. Which we did, _days_ ago, and it was too early."

"The book _also_ says that you _really_ don't want to wait too long."

"Do you have any idea how much it hurts to have your cervix checked by a first-year nurse?" Jean glared at him. "Let's let Logan give you a prostate exam and I'm sure that'll give you a good idea. I mean it, Scott. Nobody is sticking a hand up there again unless they're ready to pull a human out."

"I think you're being irrational, Jean."

"Doctor Steve said as long as I can talk through the contractions, they're not strong enough to go."

"You are not talking through them," Pete pointed out, "you are holding your breath."

"I know what the doctor said," Scott interrupted, "but the book says - Hey, Ray! Quit being a pervert and hand me my book."

Ray tossed the book across the room, but because a) he has kind of horrible aim, and b) he wasn't really paying attention anyway, the thing veered off course and came flying in my direction. I snatched it a millisecond before it collided with my face and gave the little booger a look that'd take the hair off his nuts (if he had any) before turning to glare at Scott.

"Look, buddy," I started in on him, "we all get that you're stressed, but like it or not, the kid is in _her_ body. She gets to call the shots. If you and your damn book want to be in charge, then next time you can figure out a way to grow a uterus and knock yourself up. But in the meantime, your only job is to sit there and shut up, because the rest of us are trying to watch the f***ing program."

And with that, I turned back to the television with an air finality. It was quiet for a minute or so before Scott cleared his throat.

"Can I at least have my book back - "

"No."

"I'm not going to say anything, I'm just going to read quietly."

"No."

"... It's _my_ book, Rogue. You have no right to keep it from me."

I rolled my eyes. "No book, Scott."

He pouted for a second, which I took as a sign that he was dropping the subject. But as soon as I turned my attention back to the TV, he lunged forward, clawing at the item in my lap. I jumped up, moving the book out of his reach just in the nick of time.

"Okay, _seriously_?!" I glared down at him on the couch. "How old are you?" He scowled back at me petulantly as I made my way to the back of the room. "The book is going in the hallway. Happy now?"

Without looking, I chucked the stupid thing out of the room and into the hallway. I was about to turn back to sit down when I heard a surprised yelp from behind me.

"Mother f***!" exclaimed the voice. A second later, in walks Remy LeBeau, a beer bottle in one hand and a distinct red mark on his opposite bicep. He looked around for a moment before his eyes landed on me, standing behind the couch. "Did you just throw a _book_ at me?"

Okay, so, there's something you should know. You remember how in the last entry, I told you that Remy said he'd call me when he got home? Yeah, well... he never did. No call, no text, nothing. And, you know, it's not like it's a big deal or anything. I didn't sit around checking my phone all day in case he checked in, like he said he would. I'm not a sad case or anything. Honestly, the only reason I care is he said he would call and he didn't. That's all. It's just rude. I mean, I don't know why I expected anything... that's so typical Remy. He'll charm your f***ing face off, but when it comes to the follow-through, he sucks ass. But the point is, it was just a little weird for me, him waltzing in looking like shit on a stick after he totally blew me off only a few days ago, and the first thing he does is berate me about assaulting him with a _paperback_, for f***'s sake.

It's not like it could have even hurt.

"Well," I replied, "obviously I didn't know someone was going to walk in at that exact moment. What the hell are you even doing here anyway?"

He shrugged. "Getting a beer." He looked over at the TV, his brow furrowing. "What the f*** are you all watching?"

"_A Baby Story_," Jamie called back over his shoulder. "It has naked ladies. On basic cable!"

"Score," he mumbled back sarcastically. He looked around the room. "What, is _everyone_ in here? Where the hell am I supposed to sit?"

"Oh brother," I grumbled, rolling my eyes I turned to go sit back down. "Her Royal Highness is going to have to forgo the f***ing throne and pop a squat somewhere. Maybe if you'd _called_ and told us you were coming, we could have reserved you a seat..."

He started to reply before stopping. "... what the hell is that?"

I looked back to find him motioning towards my backside. "Um, my _ass_?"

"I mean what's on it."

"Denim? Seriously, did you forget how to function over the last week and a half?"

He glared at my sensibly embroidered back pockets. "I don't know what's up with - " he waved his beer-bottle up and down my general form, " - whatever the hell all this is. But I don't like it."

"Are you _kidding_ me, brah?" Alex exclaimed. "That ass is tight!"

"_Thank_ you." Never figured I'd appreciate Alex Summers making a comment about my ass. Well played, Universe. I turned and glared at Remy, crossing my arms hotly. "And what the hell is wrong with '_all this_'?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, perching on a nearby couch arm. "Just never thought I'd see you goin' for... _that_ look."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Kitty snapped. She helped me get dressed that morning, I think she took it as a personal offense.

"It don't mean nothing, Minette." He took a swig of his beer. "I'm sure you love it. Must be nice to have a little dress up doll to play with."

"Watch it, Gambit," Pete cut in dangerously.

"You _told_ me to go shopping with Kitty," I shot back. Seriously, what was with the f***ing attitude coming out of nowhere? You saw, I was nice. Nice-ish. I totally didn't provoke him or anything. He just walked in and started in on me. I mean, I may have hit him with a book, but it was completely unintentional.

"I told you to go shopping if _you_ wanted to go shopping. I didn't tell you start dressing like - "

" - Like _what_?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "... Like you're asking for it."

My jaw dropped as my vision started to turn red. I was wearing a _v-neck t-shirt_ and _jeans_. You'd think I was getting ready to work a f***ing street corner, the way he was reacting.

"Are you effing kidding me?" Kitty exclaimed. "She looks fantastic. She's an effing Honey now. You're just jealous because that gravy train no longer makes stops at your station." She held up her hand for a silent high five, and I relented. It wasn't her best comeback, but it _was_ for my benefit.

Remy scoffed. "Oh yeah, that's what really gets me going. Desperation mixed with mediocre style notes."

Kitty let out a strangled squeak before narrowing her eyes at him. "Hey Remy, the _School_ _for Asshats_ called. You've been accepted."

Remy huffed. "That's a lame burn."

"Your face is a lame burn."

"That doesn't even make sense, Kitty."

"Hey," Scott cut in. "You mind keeping it down, guys? You're making it hard for Jean to focus on her body's cues."

Jean groaned. "Oh my hell, Scott. Will you just back off? Do you seriously think I can't tell if my uterus is bearing down on itself because there's a _conversation_ happening? How about we put your testicles in a vice, and you can tell me if you still feel it when I clamp down on them with people talking in the room."

"What the hell is your problem?" Kitty shot across the room.

"My problem," Remy replied hotly, "is that I've had a shitty week, and maybe I don't appreciate coming home to luke warm booze, no f***ing place sit my ass down, and _her_ - " he shot a hand out in my direction, " - in those F***-Me jeans and looking like..."

"Like what," I asked quietly.

He paused, looking at me sharply. "Like, cookie cutter Campus Slut."

I took a breath and tried to resist the urge to throw a glass of water in his face. I realized that the younger girls in the corner were way too interested in our conversation. I swear, I don't _try_ to act like a soap opera character. It just happens.

"Okay, first off, I can dress however I want. I shouldn't even have to explain that one. And secondly, this isn't your 'home', remember? You have your own damn apartment, filled, I'm sure, with plenty of seating. You _'came home'_ to it days ago, you know, back when you were _supposed_ to call me. You don't get to be huffy because we all didn't sit around all week with a Homecoming banner ready for whenever you decided to stop by to mooch our food and beer."

Logan looked up from his catalog. "You drinking my beer?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "I'll replace it later." He turned back to me. "And what the hell are you talking about? When was I _supposed_ to call you?"

Oops. "Saturday." I straightened up. "It's not a big deal, you just said you'd call, and you didn't. Whatever."

He closed his eyes for a moment and groaned. "Are you f***ing serious? You're gonna give me shit over _that_? I said I'd call when I got home, so I figured since I was just coming _straight here_ it didn't matter. But I guess you were expecting me to pull over and take out the damn phone the second I crossed into f***ing Bayville city limits..."

It took me a good second to process what he was saying. "Wait... you _just_ got back?"

"You know, I've just spent the last six hours on the back of a f***ing motorcycle " he ranted on, "wearing day old socks, which you know I f***ing hate. But please, add some more pointless shit on plate, Rogue."

"Remy, hold up. Are you saying you literally just got back into town?"

"What do you mean 'day old socks'?" Jamie asked, turning away from the TV. "How many days are you supposed to wear them?"

"Socks are totally fine for at least two days," Ray replied with an air of authority. "It's not like they get dirty or anything. They just sit there on your feet."

"Do not listen to him, Jamie," Pete cut in tiredly. "You need to change your socks every day."

"You were supposed to get back like, five days ago," I continued.

Remy shrugged. "Yeah, well... there was a change of plans."

"Change of plans, what does that mean?"

"Hang on," Ray cut in, "you mean new socks, _every_ day? That's insanity! How many socks do you own?"

"It means something came up."

"Something _'came up'_?"

"I mean," Ray continued, "if I owned that many socks, it'd take up an entire drawer!"

Remy groaned and rolled his eyes. "Damn, girl. I wasn't with _Felicia_, if that's what you're worried about."

I frowned. "That's not what I was saying."

Pete sighed. "It is called a '_sock drawer_', Ray."

Remy gave me a look. "Maybe if you went out and got laid yourself, you wouldn't have to spend so much energy thinking about how the f*** I spend _my_ time."

"Whoa!" Kitty interjected before I could. "That's too far, dude! She's being nice here - you know, for Rogue - and you're coming back like a total tool!"

"It's none of her damn business what I was doing, _Minette_."

Kitty crossed her arms. "Yeah, well, if you weren't such a lovable _douche-bag_, nobody would give a shit about how you spend your time!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not a _douche-bag_."

"Oh, you totally are."

"I'm not!"

"You are. Charlie Sheen called while you were gone, he says your membership application has been accepted. You are now an official member of the douche-bag club. Your blow-up doll is in the mail." I gave her a silent fist bump. She totally didn't even have to ask for it. This is one of the best things about having Kitty on your side. When she's got your back, she's like a rabid little attack dog. I mean, she's small, but she's feisty. Like an attack Chihuahua.

"I'm sorry," Ray interrupted, "but can we go back to this sock thing? You guys are crazy. Next you're gonna tell me I'm supposed to change my underwear '_every day_'."

Bobby looked at him in horror and scooted a couple inches away. "Ew! Dude, _yes_!"

Ray looked around as everyone in the room nodded their heads in agreement.

"My underwear is _clean_," he explained hotly. "I don't poop in my boxers, alright? So I think the better question is, why do _you_ guys have keep changing your underwear all the time, huh? _That's_ disgusting."

I shook my head, deciding to just not even dwell on... whatever the hell is wrong with that kid. I looked back at Remy. "Look, you don't have to tell me what you were doing. It just seems weird. And you're in a pretty pissy mood so it makes me think that maybe something shitty happened. So sue me if I'm concerned."

"I was _working_, okay?" he snapped.

I furrowed my brow with concern. "I thought the job was done."

"It was."

"Hey, I didn't know you had another job!" Alex piped in. "I could use me one of those. I mean, this X-man thing is cool and all, but the pay is shit. I can't really be rolling out the Benjamins at the club like I used to back when I worked the surf shop on the Island. You get health benefits?"

"So, what," I said, totally ignoring the idiot, as one should, "... did something go wrong? Are you okay?"

"F***, chere, would you just lay off?!" he exclaimed, slamming his beer bottle down on the side table. "What the hell do you want me to say, huh? You want more fuel for the fire? _Fine_. He called me up, okay? Had more shit for me to do, didn't give a damn if I said I wasn't exactly in the f***ing mood. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

I knew who the 'he' was that he was refering to without him saying it. "I didn't know that's what happened, Remy."

He just ignored me. "Well, I know you got an opinion on it, so just go ahead, Rogue, get it the out of the damn way and tell me I'm a f***ing idiot."

I hate that the jerk can still make my throat tighten. "I wasn't going to say that."

He snorted. "You know, it's my f***ing life. I can live it however the hell I want to, and I don't really need to be hassled about it by the damn peanut gallery."

"Okay!" Kitty jumped in. "That's enough. What the hell is wrong with you, Remy? You don't even live here anymore, but you come in where we're all watching something and start jumping down everyone's throats! We totally missed that lady BS-ing about how awesome it is to have a newborn, and every knows that's best part of the whole damn show. If you _have_ to be a complete asshole, why don't you go do it somewhere else. I mean, isn't there a _vagina_ somewhere that you're supposed to be in?"

Remy narrowed his eyes at her and stood up. "You know what? You're right. I'm going up to my old room... there's a TV up there too and a whole hell of a lot less _lip_."

Kitty stuck her tongue out at him as he turned, grabbing his beer. It was kind of immature, but I totally wanted to do the same myself.

As he started stalking out of the room, Jean suddenly called out to him. "Um, Remy?"

"**_What_**?!" he snapped without thinking. He turned around and suddenly soften, seeing Jean sitting there, all tired and disheveled and, you know, pregnant. "Sorry Jean. I mean, what?"

"Is your motorcycle blocking Scott's car in?"

Remy sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Yes, it is. But if I park behind the X-Van, people complain. If I park behind Storm's car, she complains. If I park next to Logan's bike, he bitches that I'm gonna bump him and scratch the paint! I don't know where the hell y'all want me to park - "

"Remy," she interrupted gently, "I'm not complaining. But I think you're going to have to move it. Like, right now."

"Why?"

She took a slow, careful breath. "Because my water just broke."

The fourth thing you need to know is that Alex is pretty squeamish, and very attached to his $200 '_7 For All Mankind_' skinny jeans, which now have amniotic fluid on them. Also, you should know that Remy totally moved his bike. Without complaining. Seriously, I'd like to see him try bitching about _that_.


	12. y'all y'all y'all

**Hay ya'll! Ah'm Rogue! Ah lahke to talk lahke Forrest Gump! Ah lahke to be moody and deep and ah'm in love with a stupid ass Cajun who has serious daddy issues! Blah blah blah fahne!**

**Okay, full disclosure, this is not Rogue. This is Kitty.**

**I decided to come check out how Rogue was doing with her "revenge blog", only to find that she's left you all hanging! What a sin… she really sucks at revenge blogs. She should definitely stick to throwing things at people and being a jerk. And rocking her hot ass jeans like a boss.**

**And just in case anyone out there remembers how to use "the Googles", this is not technically "my blog". This is Rogue's blog, I'm just stealing it. *Cough*Logan*Cough***

**So, momma's back. I'm kicking Rogue out of the driver's seat and commandeering this vehicle. Because holy crap Rogue. Get your shit together.**

**Anyways, you can find my new blog entitled "The Beautiful Mind of Katherine Pryde: Volume Two".**

**I was trying to think of famous sequels I could rip off and use instead of "Volume Two" but the best I could come up with was "The Beautiful Mind of Katherine Pryde: Spider-Man 2".**

**I didn't go with that one because I just know everyone will message me asking if I know Spider-Man, and if Spider-Man will be making an appearance.**

**I do not, and he won't.**

**As I was saying, buckle up ya'll, because Tinkerbelle is back in charge.**

**I should totally start calling people ya'll. I bet I could pull it off.**


End file.
